


Frontman

by mtjester



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ableist Language, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Cronus Ampora is basically in character, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Humanstuck, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Racist Language, Sexist Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtjester/pseuds/mtjester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After months of next to no social interaction, Dirk Strider is now asking you to be in a garage band with him and...whoever the hell this other clown is. It sounds like a hoax or a set-up or a dream.  Maybe it’s all three. But...you’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity, just in case you’re in a reality that would allow something so nice to happen to someone like you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> A ragtag group of teens- with nothing in common aside from the fact that they're all relative outcasts at their school- start a Garage Band.
> 
> Also, check out [this fanart](http://tavros-bullhornwimp-nitram.tumblr.com/post/100783043721) by [Little Pizza Elf](http://tavros-bullhornwimp-nitram.tumblr.com/) and this [fanart](http://gloomy-optimist.tumblr.com/post/91386425381/mtjester-gave-me-a-frontman-spoiler-ok-basically) by [gloomy-optimist](http://gloomy-optimist.tumblr.com/)!

You changed schools after the accident, and since then, you never really could build up enough confidence to meet anyone or make friends.  You wish someone would come talk to you, but most people leave you alone.  You know what they must think of the shy boy in the wheelchair sorting through his Pokémon cards during lunch.  The thought bums you out pretty hard.  If it weren’t for band class, you wouldn’t want to come to school at all.

Band class makes it worth it, though.  The teacher lets you play your guitar, and you’re much better at it now than you ever were before the accident.  It helps that you have much more free time to practice, now that you don’t have to spend time hanging out with your friends. You don’t know if the trade was worth it, but you can’t change the past.  It’s nice to have a skill, at least.

But there’s another reason you like band class, a reason you would never tell to anyone. That reason stays at the back of the room, feet up on the marimba, wordlessly waiting for the teacher’s permission to destroy the drum set.  You know some people think Dirk Strider’s sunglasses are dorky, but you think they’re the coolest sunglasses you’ve ever seen.  You’ve heard rumors that he raps, and you bet he’s better than you’ll ever be.  He’s an outcast for some reason.  Nobody talks to him, and he keeps to himself like you do.  Everyone seems to think he’s an aloof asshole or else a gang member, probably because of his black muscle shirt and impressive biceps. You don’t know what his deal is, but somehow, knowing that someone as inarguably cool as Dirk Strider can be an outcast like you makes you feel a little better about yourself. Even though he’s an upperclassman and you’ll never work up the confidence to talk to him, you’re glad to spend the hour in band class with him, making at least something like music together.

You never expected him to sit down next to you at lunch.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” he asks.  You almost jump out of your skin.  This is the first time anyone has ever talked to you during lunch period at this school.  When you glance up and see who’s speaking, your mouth goes dry.

“Uh...no, it’s not,” you say.  You almost cringe at the obvious falter in your voice.  You never could get rid of it.  His face betrays nothing as he slides into the seat, dropping the tray on the table with little regard for the food on it.

“Tavros, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, Tavros.  Nitram.”

“Dirk Strider.  Nice to meet you.”

You almost say, ‘I know,’ but you bite your tongue.  “Nice to meet you,” you say instead.  That’s a more appropriate answer.  You haven’t felt this flustered since...well, since every day you knew Vriska, so maybe that’s not saying much.  This is a different sort of flustered, though, created not from embarrassment or uncertainty but from something else entirely. Even this close, he emanates a cool and collected aura that you want to wrap around yourself and absorb. If only it were possible to take someone else’s disposition.

“So, Tavros...” he says, popping a tater tot into his mouth.  You’ve almost forgotten your own food. To keep from staring, you drop your eyes to your plate and pretend to be interested in eating. He continues, “You seem pretty competent with that guitar.  Have you been playing long?”

“Uh...” you say. “No...I think just for five years, on and off, so not too long, realistically.”

“I dunno, bro, that sounds like a long time to me,” he says.  “Do you play anything else?  Ever tried an electric guitar?”

You really want to tell him that you rap.  You really, really want to tell him.  But what if he asks to hear your rhymes, and you suck?  “No, I’ve never played the electric guitar,” you say. Perfectly safe. “But, uh...”  You could be not so safe.  You could take a chance.  “I...I rap, sometimes, or used to, with a friend I had once.  I’m not good, though.”  Just so he knows not to get his hopes up.

“Rapping, huh?” His lips...holy shit, is that the tiniest of smirks?  “That’s good news.  I was about to ask what sort of music you like.”

As much as you want to mimic his cool demeanor, you're delighted as hell with his interest in you, and you know excitement is beaming from your face.  “Yeah, I, uh...I really respect rap, as an art form and as a way of personal self expression, even though I’m not the best rapper, so... Actually, I heard that you...” Hold on, maybe you shouldn’t cue him into the gossip you’ve collected about him.  Are you being too enthusiastic?  But you already started, and his mostly expressionless face hasn’t given any signs of annoyance or uneasiness, so you finish building your social coffin.  “I heard that you rap, too, and that you’re good at it.”

He cocks his head a bit and says, “Yeah, I rap.  I built a couple of robots at home to keep me on my toes. My little brother, Dave, likes to challenge me every now and then, but he’s still learning. He’s in your grade, but he goes to a different school.”

There are so many things in that sentence that you want to ask about, you don’t even know where to start.  “You build rap robots?”

“Yeah. It’s a hobby.”

“Wow...that’s an awesome hobby, way better than the hobbies I have!”

“What’s wrong with this?” he asks, pointing at your Pokémon cards.  A hot blush blazes across your face. You’d forgotten about them.

“Uh, well, they’re...okay, I guess, but not objectively awesome, by anyone’s standards, not like building robots is...”

“Nah, dude, Pokémon’s the shit,” he says.  “Can I take a look at what you’ve got?”

You gape for a just long enough to feel like a complete idiot before you push them towards him.  He seems genuinely interested.  “Shit, your deck’s way better than mine,” he says, leafing through the cards.

“Uh...thanks?” _He has a deck_.

“Maybe you could come over and play me some time.  It’s pretty obvious which one of us would win, but it’d be fun anyways.”

You have no idea what your face is doing.  Are you grinning?  “That would be really great, if...I can get there, and...”

“Don’t worry, it’s an accessible apartment,” he says without missing a beat. “Actually, I was wondering if—“

“Hey there, chief,” someone says from behind you, and you jump slightly as a tall dude with slicked back hair pulls a chair up to your table.  He throws an arm around Dirk, whose mouth falls into an almost imperceptible grimace.  “The name’s Cronus, like the Greek god.  How’s it hanging?”

The question is directed towards you, and you’re not really sure how to respond. “It’s...okay?” you say, with a quick glance at Dirk.  Beneath his cool facade, he looks as though he wants to slap his hand to his face.

“I told you not to come over here under any circumstance,” Dirk says.

“What even _ever_ ,” Cronus responds with a dramatic sigh.  “Do you have any idea how boring that is?  Why do you get to come chat about whatever _that_ is while I sit by myself, wallowing in my own dejection?” He gestures towards your Pokémon cards, and you feel a pang of self-consciousness.

“Because you’re a moron,” Dirk says with a crisp little clip at the end of his sentence, and he shrugs Cronus’s arm off his shoulders.  “Besides, I thought you had an artistic and tortured soul. Isn’t that something that benefits from some time alone in a public cafeteria?”

“My whole _life_ is time alone in a public cafeteria,” Cronus whines.  “It’s not worth anything if I don’t channel my inspiration.  Speaking of which, did you ask him yet?”

Cronus looks at you with cheerful expectation, and you shrink back into your cushion. “I was just about to ask, but then you came over,” Dirk says, and your eyes snap to him.  His frustration is almost tangible, despite his efforts to conceal it.  He notices your gaze and turns his attention to you.  “So, Tavros...we have a proposition for you.”

A...proposition? That sounds foreboding. But at the same time...it sounds not lonely.  That would be a nice change of pace for you.  “Okay,” you say, “or, I guess I should say, what is the proposition?”

“Word on the street is that you can shred a mean riff on a guitar,” Cronus says, leaning towards you with cocked eyebrows.

“Whatever that means,” Dirk adds.  “We want to start a band.  I’m on drums, and I have some turntables at home.  This guy is pretty decent with a synth.  I rap, he says he can write up some rhymes—“

“Obviously I can—“

“And we were wondering if you wanted to be our frontman.”

“We’re going to start practicing in my garage in a week,” Cronus finishes.

Wow. Oh, wow.  That’s...a lot of stuff to consider. And...frontman? “Uh...” you say. What else can you say? Frontman.  Wow.  “That definitely sounds like something I would be interested in doing, if circumstances were normal, but I think that, I, as a frontman, would not be a good choice, since frontmen are supposed to be energetic and generally entertaining, so as to keep up the spirits of the audience, which...is not a thing I feel capable of doing, even just as a personality, so...”

“See, I told you!” Cronus says, slapping Dirk’s arm lightly with the back of his hand. “I’m the best choice for frontman. I just need to get with the feel of my keytar, and I can be the face of this operation.”

Dirk exhales slowly through his nose.  “We can figure it out later,” he says after a second’s deliberation. “It doesn’t really matter. Tavros, if you don’t want to be the frontman, that’s fine.  Are you still interested?”

You open your mouth and then close it.  This is a lot to take in.  After months of next to no social interaction, Dirk Strider is now asking you to be in a garage band with him and...whoever the hell this other clown is. It sounds like a hoax or a set-up or a dream.  Maybe it’s all three. But...you’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity, just in case you’re in a reality that would allow something so nice to happen to someone like you.

“Yeah,” you say.  “Yeah, I’d definitely be interested in doing that with you.”

“Great,” Dirk says, and that tiny smile reappears.  “Give me your number so I can keep you in the loop.”

“Me too,” Cronus chimes in, extracting an expensive smart phone.  You feel a little ashamed of your ancient flip phone as you punch in their numbers, but by the time the lunch bell rings, you could hardly care less.


	2. Meet the Band

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More [fanart](http://gloomy-optimist.tumblr.com/post/91381978491/he-knows-how-to-play-a-guitar-better-than-you) by [gloomy-optimist](http://gloomy-optimist.tumblr.com/) for this chapter!

The next Saturday, you’re in Cronus’s four-car garage, which is almost as large as the mobile home you share with your older brother.  His house is so big that you swear your entire extended family could live there comfortably.  You feel like a smudge of dirt in an art gallery. You’re afraid to touch anything, even the beautiful electric guitar Cronus hands to you when you arrive. Dirk, on the other hand, sits behind a shiny drum set as though the small, cushioned stool were a throne. He and Cronus have been discussing “logistics” since before you came.  You don’t know what “logistics” means or what place you have in the conversation, if you have any place in it at all, so you stay silent. The excitement that has been building inside you all week is slowly getting crushed beneath your bewilderment and discomfort.

“It can’t _all_ be rap,” Cronus says as you pick at the strings of the guitar, cringing at the note that blasts from the amp. The other two don’t seem to notice, and Cronus continues, “Nobody wants to hear you ramble on for an entire album.”

“Tavros told me that he likes rap,” Dirk says.  You start at the sound of your name and look up.  “If they don’t want to listen to me the whole time, they can listen to him some, too.”

“We don’t know how good he is yet,” Cronus says, lowering his voice just enough to be polite. Or almost enough, at least. “Besides,” he says at a normal tone, “how are you going to rap when you’re playing the drums?”

“I can rap under any condition.  I can also bring over some turntables and take a rest on the drums every now and then.”

“Oh, yeah, bring over your turntables and turn this whole show into your own little stage of self-aggrandizement.  Nice. We can call ourselves ‘Dirk and his Useless Background Eyecandies.’”

“If you want to write lyrics that badly, who the hell do you expect to be the vocalist?”

“I can sing.”

Dirk sighs. The tone of his voice suggests that they’ve had this conversation before.  “Listen, I know you’re really into your music, and I’m saying this because you’ve got enough sense to know I’m right.  You’ve got a jazz voice.  It’s too rich and soothing for the sound we’re going for.”

“ _What_?” Cronus says, outraged. “You’re only saying that because _your_ voice sounds like a saw whenever you try to carry a melody!”

“No, dude. Your voice is nice, but it’s boring.”

“ _Rap_ is boring.”

“Tavros,” Dirk says, and you freeze.  They both turn their attention to you.  “If you were to envision yourself as a member of your ideal dream band, what sort of music would you make?”

“Uh...” you say. You accidentally pluck a string as you figure out the most strategic answer, and you jump to silence it. Inhaling, you say, “Idealistically, I would be on a band with members who can all express themselves in their songs, one which works with the strengths of everyone to make the best sort of music possible.”  You know it’s a lame answer, but it’s more or less true.  Besides, you don’t want to pick sides this early.

Cronus groans, releasing a loud and exasperated noise that almost sounds practiced. “As _if_ it’s that easy,” he says with a dramatic roll of his eyes. He looks back at you, examining you with a critical eye.  “What kind of music do you usually play, then?”

“Me?” you ask.

“Obviously.”

Your eyes flash to Dirk.  “Uh, well...I usually just strum stuff, like classical or folk guitar things...not that I’m against more edgy or fast-paced kinds of music, or learning how to, uh, shred mean riffs, or make sick jams, the kind that would go well with rock or punk or rap.”

Cronus purses his lips and leans on a mic stand.  “And you sing?”

“Um...no...”

“You don’t sing?” he asks with surprise, and you shake your head.  “Why?  You _obviously_ have the voice of a singer.”

“Uh...no...?”

“Trust me on this one, friend, I have an ear for this sort of thing.  Even Mr. Cool here wouldn’t deny that.” He glances at Dirk with a cocky smirk, and you can almost imagine Dirk rolling his eyes behind his shades.

“Music is the only thing he’s good at,” Dirk admits.

“See? That was almost praise,” Cronus says, and you suspect the comment is directed more towards Dirk than you. “I’ll be the one writing most of our music—“

“— _once_ we have the lyrics and the basic sounds straightened out,” Dirk adds.

Cronus’s face falls into a pout.  “I am honestly feeling really attacked right now over absolutely nothing,” he says. “I mean, we _get it_.  You want things done your way.  If you’re so concerned about your artistic vision, why don’t you stick to your turntables and go solo?  Are we a team or what?”

“I don’t know.  Are we a team? You came to me.”

“And you agreed.”

“I’m just saying, a drummer is easy to overshadow.  I want to be a part of the process.”

“Everyone gets to be part of the process!” Cronus says.  “Even new kid guitarist is part of the process.”

“So let him get a word in,” Dirk says.  A slight turn of his head tells you that he’s directing his attention towards you now, and you feel the urge to straighten up and wipe the confusion off your face. “If you have any ideas or ‘artistic visions’ that you want to turn into songs, let us know,” he says. “Don’t let this guy bully you into thinking you have to cave to his standards of music.”

You open your mouth to reply, prepared to say something cool about your ability to stick up for yourself and be assertive, but Cronus interrupts before you can speak. “Oh, and what’s that supposed to mean?” he demands.

“Just let it rest, bro,” Dirk says with a sigh.  You sit back, lamenting your missed chance to be suave. You can’t see Dirk’s eyes, but you feel as though he’s looking at you, which makes you feel just a little more lame.  After a pause, he says, “We should at least figure out how we’re going to practice for now. Let’s cover some songs before we start writing our own.”

Cronus groans.  “And, let me _guess_ , you want to give each of us a chance to choose the songs we cover.”

“Yeah? I don’t see why that wouldn’t be reasonable.”  

“We’ll be covering Nicki Minaj and Macklemore by the end of the month.”

“From now on, I think it should be a rule that you remove your head from your anal cavity before the start of practice,” Dirk says, picking up his drumsticks. He begins to tap on the corner of his snare drum.

“Oh, yeah, _very_ mature—“

Dirk starts to drum out a beat, keeping his face impassive as Cronus sulks. Your eyes flash between them. Is this what a band practice is supposed to be like?  You don’t feel like a member of a garage band.  You feel like you always feel—out of place.  You startle slightly as Cronus turns towards you with a frown and strides over, pulling a chair with him.

“Hey there, friend,” he says, sitting in front of you with a forced smile. He gestures towards the guitar. “How’s it feel?”

You straighten up and adjust it in your lap.  “It’s, uh, good, I think,” you say, trying to look more competent than you feel. It is a guitar, after all, and you know the strings, the notes, the chords.  You blush as he eyes your face with a growing smirk. Your uncertainty and eagerness to please must be evident.

“So you’ve only used acoustic guitars?” he asks, and to your surprise, he stands up and slides his chair behind your wheelchair.  As he sits, his arms circle around you, and his hands rest on yours.  Your blush deepens as he sneaks a guitar pick into your right hand.  “You might need some help with your stomp box, kid, but that’s why you have us around.  You’re going to learn a new way to play with us. We’re not doing any folk.”

His right hand tightens over yours as though he’s about to teach you how to pick, but before he can do or say anything else, a drumstick whizzes past your head and hits him between the eyes.  He swears and lets go of you to cradle his face.  “He knows how to play a guitar better than you do,” Dirk says. “And for the love of decency, leave room for Jesus.  He just met you, dumbass.  At least pretend to have shame.”

“How about you play your drums and mind your own business?” Cronus snaps.

“How about you play your synth and let him get comfortable?” Dirk counters. “I’ve seen him play, and he knows what he’s doing.  Let him experiment.  He’ll pick up on the nuances once we give him some songs to work on.”  Just as you think your blush is going away, it comes back full force.  He’s been watching you play in band class?

“How about this,” Cronus says, gritting his teeth, “let’s finish here today, go home, and all pick three songs to work on.  Does that make you happy, _chief_?”

“Yes, that makes me happy.”

Well, that kills your buzz in record time.  Your stomach sinks.  Dirk had told you over text that practice would last for three hours, so you arranged with your brother to get picked up after he gets off work.  Since Cronus’s house is much closer to the public pool than your trailer park is, which sits outside of town, Rufioh promised to take you swimming for the first time in a week.  But if you go home early, that means you won’t be nearby anymore.

“Uh,” you say, raising your hand slightly, “I, um...my brother is still at work, so I don’t have a way to get home, if we’re going to end practice early...”

“I can take you,” Dirk offers without missing a beat.  “Your chair can fit in my trunk.”

Your cheeks grow hot, and you feel like a complete ass.  Sighing, you say, “Uh...that’s really nice of you, and I don’t want to sound not grateful for the offer, but...I was hoping that maybe I could stay here, at least until he gets off work?”  You glance towards Cronus, who raises an eyebrow at you. “It’s because he commutes to the city, which means he drives by here on the way to work, and he promised to take me swimming, which is an activity my physical therapist introduced me to, as a means of exercise, but the pool is far from our house and my brother doesn’t have much....money for gas, after commuting so much...so he doesn’t like to drive me all the way there from home if he can help it...”

If you could sink into the floor, you would.  But you can’t, so you avoid eye contact and wait for Cronus’s answer. You can understand if he doesn’t want a guy he hardly knows hanging around in his garage with nothing to do. Maybe you could practice the guitar while you wait, which would make it less awkward?  But if he has plans for the afternoon, you’d be okay with going home.  You’ll have other chances to go to the pool, like maybe after next weekend’s practice. And...you wouldn’t complain much about another chance to talk to Dirk without Cronus around.

“You swim?” Cronus asks.  His tone is more surprised than judgmental, and you glance up at him.

“Not well,” you say with a small shrug.  “I never really did before, uh...before my accident, but it’s a good way to keep in shape, as it’s a cardiovascular activity that I can take part in, even without...legs.” You are not making the impression you wanted to make when you came.

“If you just want to swim—Tavros, right?”

“Yeah, Tavros.”

“If you just want to swim, Tavros, you can take a dip in our pool,” he says. To your surprise, he seems genuinely excited.  “I would be more than happy to jump in with you.  I am _all about_ swimming. If I were born with gills, I would _never_ get out of the water. It’s almost as though I am a sea creature born in a human body.”  He winks at you, and you feel the hot pressure of shame lessen.

“Wow, if you have a pool, and you don’t mind if I come swim with you, I think that sounds great,” you say.  “I mean, if you don’t have other plans or anything.”

“Think nothing of it,” he says with an extravagant wave of his hand.  “Mi casa es tu casa, as your people might say. I’ll go get Eridan to take the cover off.”

“Uh, my people?” you repeat as he slips out of the door with a huge grin. You can hear him calling to somebody in the house. 

“You’re going to stay here, then?” Dirk asks.  You jump and turn around.  You don’t know when he got behind you, but he’s standing next to your chair, as expressionless as he ever is.

“I think so,” you say, recovering quickly.  “If Cronus is nice enough to let me swim here, it would be an excellent way to help ease some of my brother’s stress, which is very high usually, due to his job. And it would be nice, I think, to get to know him and bond with him, as a member of this band I’m now a part of. Which I hope we all do, to some extent.”  You hope that doesn’t sound cheesy, but you want to be inclusive.  You also secretly hope that he’ll remember the offer he made to play Pokémon with you, which has been buzzing at the back of your mind all week.

“I guess I’ll hang around a bit longer,” he says.

“Oh, do you swim, too?” you ask.  This could turn out to be a good day after all.

“No, but my conscience won’t allow me to leave you behind alone with that sleezeball so he can hit on you all afternoon.”

“Uh...does he do that a lot?”

“It’s kind of his thing.  Don’t let him lull you into a false sense of friendship, or he’ll try to shove his tongue down your throat in a closet.”

“Is that—?”

“Okay, everything’s ready,” Cronus says, reappearing in a pair of swim trunks. “Come with me. Don’t worry, there aren’t any stairs.”

You follow him out of the garage and around the mammoth house, down a narrow path framed by exotic-looking plants.  The pool itself is much nicer than the public pool you’ve been going to, even if it’s smaller.  It looks like something straight out of Hollywood.  You try not to gape.

Cronus turns around, gesturing with a sweep of the hand to the pool. “Feel free to—whoa, wait, Strider’s still here?” he asks, noticing for the first time that Dirk had also followed.

“Yo,” Dirk says, lifting a hand.  You notice Cronus’s smile fade and wonder if Dirk was right.

“Well, whatever.  You can make yourself comfortable, too, I guess,” Cronus says.  He turns his attention back to you.  “Do you need trunks?”

“I have everything, in my bag,” you say, pointing to the backpack hanging from the back of your chair.

“Great, great,” Cronus says.  He points to a small but handsome pool house.  “You can change in there.”

You navigate your way to the pool house, inside of which you find a shower and a bathroom. Before you close the door, you see Cronus slinking towards Dirk with a sour look.  You sigh.  Why does everything good about today seem to turn out weird?

When you emerge with your trunks on and your legs tied so they don’t float around, Cronus is in the pool, swimming laps, while Dirk watches from a pool chair with a fruity drink in hand.  Cronus’s chest and back muscles are more impressive than they look with his shirt on. Although you’ve gained a lot of upper body strength yourself in the past few months, it doesn’t show the way long-term, directed lifting would.  You’re feeling a little self-conscious as you maneuver yourself to the edge of the pool.

“Do you need help with anything?” Dirk asks.  You glance over your shoulder at him, and he’s already leaning forward, watching you.

“No, it’s fine,” you say with a small smile.  You lock the wheels of your chair and guide yourself to the ground, scooting forward to let your feet into the water.  You dip your fingers in to feel the temperature. It’s warmer than you suspected.

“Don’t worry, kid, it’s heated,” Cronus says as he does a leisurely backstroke across the pool.  His eyes are roving over your legs, and even though you can’t exactly read his expression, it’s making you feel awkward.  You gulp down some air and push yourself in.

You swim slowly, but you love the freedom of movement water affords you. When you close your eyes, you like to imagine you’re one of the mermaids from Peter Pan, or sometimes you pretend that you’re flying.  You swim to the opposite side of the pool and back before letting yourself rest.

“So...” Cronus says, floating over to you, “how long have you been crippled? You’re pretty fit for a guy stuck in a wheelchair.”

“Oh my fucking god...” you hear Dirk say from the side of the pool, and the tips of your ears grow warm.

“Being in a wheelchair doesn't mean I can't maintain my physical fitness,” you say.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, lifting his hands out of the water in a gesture of peace, “I don’t mean to make any assumptions about people like you, it’s just when I see your kind around, they’re usually rather rotund—“

“Just because you’ve seen larger people in wheelchairs doesn’t mean everyone in wheelchairs are automatically going to be the same,” Dirk says.

“Yeah,” you say, “and, by that logic, when I see your kind, by which I mean able-bodied people, I also see a lot of fat people who are not at all physically fit, but that doesn’t mean that they're out of shape because they can walk.”

“Fair enough,” Cronus says, lifting his hands a little higher.  “I was just posing an innocent question, and I meant no offense.”

“It shouldn't even matter what kind of physique he has anyway. Do you even think before you say anything?  You’re an idiot,” Dirk says.  You’re starting to think that he’s right.

“Am I not allowed to ask questions now?” Cronus asks, shooting Dirk a nasty look.

“You—“

You hastily interrupt before they can initiate another round of bickering. “If you want to know,” you say, “it’s only been about ten months, so not very long, but long enough that I’ve been in rehabilitation and gotten used to things, mostly.”

“So what happened?”

You press your lips together and sigh.  You thought this might come up, but you were hoping it wouldn’t. At least, not this early.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about,” Dirk says. You look at him. He lifts his eyebrows just a little bit for you.  It’s not much, but from him, it’s incredibly reassuring.  An unexpected warmth flutters in your chest.

“It’s okay,” you say, mostly to him.  “I don’t mind talking about it, since we should get to know each other. I...just sort of fell from a building.”

“You fell from a _building_?” Cronus asks, and you jump slightly as you realize that he’s leaning on the side of the pool next to you, chin propped on his fist.  _“How?”_

“I...” you say, glancing at Dirk.  “Well...I was pushed, a little bit.”

“You were a little bit pushed,” Cronus repeats.  “How were you just _a little bit_ pushed?”

“By a girl that I knew, who I probably shouldn’t have been hanging out with.” You’re getting a little too deep a little too fast, and you glance at Dirk again.

“Lay off,” he says immediately.  You’re relieved that he caught onto your cue.

“Was it your girlfriend?” Cronus presses.  “Were you dating a psycho bitch?  You don’t really seem the type, but that just goes to show what happens to us nice guys when we let girls walk on us.  All the good girls date assholes, and all the crazies push boys off buildings, am I right?”

He looks at you as though he expects you to buy into the joke, with raised eyebrows and a smirk, and you sigh.  “I guess...that’s a way to think of that situation, if you want,” you say with a half-hearted shrug.  Dirk just shakes his head.

“So...” Cronus says, leaning towards you.  He glances at Dirk and lowers his voice, whispering, “Does that mean you’re bi, then?”

“What?” you ask.  A blush burns across your cheeks.

“You know...” he says, wagging his eyebrows.

“No, I don’t—I mean, at least, I don’t think—“

Cronus rolls his eyes with an exaggerated huff.  “You’re too loud.  Have you ever heard of whispering?  Come here.”  He tugs on your arm and more or less drags you through the water to the other side of the pool. You cough as you grab onto the side, and he slings an arm over your shoulder.  “Don’t even _think_ that I don’t see those eyes you’re making at Strider every time he makes a noise. You are _so_ about him.  Don’t worry, friend, you can confide in me.”

You have no idea what to say, but you know you probably look mortified. “I don’t make eyes—I mean, no, I’m not so about him, or anything like that, I just think he’s cool, and awesome in ways that I aspire to be.  That’s all.”

Cronus smirks in a way that makes your hot face blaze.  “Don’t be shy.  He’s gayer than a pride parade.  He’s probably never thought about a vagina in his life.”

“That’s, uh, mostly his business, I think, and it’s probably not right for you to tell people that without his permission...”

“Come _on,_ you think he gives a rat’s ass what anyone else thinks about him?”

You think about that for a second.  “No,” you say.  Truthfully, that’s probably what you like best about him.

“So what are _you_ so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid, so much as confused, especially about why you’re asking me these things right now.”

“Well, we _are_ bandmates now, right?” he says. After a brief pause, you nod. “See?  We should feel comfortable talking about ourselves and exchanging shameless gossip.  We’re friends, right?”

“Uh...”

“Well, maybe not _close_ friends yet, but there’s time for that!  So, that being said, _do_ you have a crush on the Strider?”

“I...” you say, and your voice catches.  Cronus’s raises an eyebrow.  “I don’t think so,” you say quickly.  “I think I just...enjoy his aesthetic, and appreciate his attitude, and genuinely find him mysterious and...”

“Attractive?”

“No! Well, objectively, yes, but...”

“Objectively, he’s a hot piece of ass,” Cronus says, and he winks at you.

“Uh...”

“Well, if _you_ don’t have a crush on him, there’s more for me.”

You start. “Wait, you mean, you have a crush on him?”

Now that you’re talking about him, Cronus adopts an aloof, pseudo-disinterested air, as though you were discussing the weather.  “I wouldn’t say it’s a _crush_ , exactly...it’s more the kind of hot, passionate attraction that makes you want to push someone into a closet and make out with them.” Wait...oh.

“You, uh, probably shouldn’t do that without another person’s permission,” you say, frowning.

“Of course, of course.  He’s just such an ass, you know?  He’s always on my case about something or other.  ‘Cronus, you shouldn’t say that,’ or ‘Cronus, you’re a moron.’  I’ve only known him for a couple months now, but he drives me crazy.”

You’re growing extremely uncomfortable, but you also know he’s waiting for you to ask about his history with Dirk.  You sigh.  “So, um, how did you—“

“Meet? Well, you see, I knew that he was the star of the school band with his skills on the drums, and I also heard rumors that he was a god with a turntable, so I approached him about working together to combine our creative talents.  It’s been rocky, but...well, obviously we’re here, and now here you are.  You were his idea. I would be jealous, but as a polyamorous omnisexual, I wouldn’t mind a little...sharing, if you will.”  He winks at you, and you feel your face fall.

“Uh...”

“Don’t be bashful,” he says.  “Even though we both seem untouchable, as attractive, artistic, sensitive people with above average intelligences and deep philosophical minds, I must ask that you not put us on pedestals.  For you, a Mexican--”

"Honduran American," you interrupt. In the face of Cronus's unbelievable audacity, you're almost too stunned to be rightly annoyed. "My grandparents were from Honduras. But you can just say latino, if it's easier."

“Right, right...for a poor, latino cripple with a shy, wimpy disposition such as yourself, it must be difficult to resist the urge to idolize us, but we’ll never reach the true potential of our relationship if you can’t think of us as normal people, just like you.”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Dirk says, appearing almost literally out of nowhere. When did he get to this side of the pool?  Without so much as a twitch of his mouth, he grabs Cronus’s head and pushes it into the pool, grabbing onto you as Cronus’s arm pulls down on your shoulder.  He lifts you effortlessly out of the pool, still holding Cronus’s head underwater.  “We’re leaving.  It’s fine if you never want to come back.  I should have known better.”

“Did...you hear all of that?” you ask, both impressed and horrified by the prospect.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait!” Cronus sputters as Dirk finally lets his head above the water. He coughs as he pulls himself out of the pool.  “Okay, I’ll admit that _maybe_ that was a bit strong, but come on, don’t give up on my yet!”  He looks at you.  “Let me make up for it.  I’ll drive you home. I’ll even treat you to some ice cream.  Look, I’m not a bad guy, even if my mouth runs a bit some time.  Give me a chance?”

You don’t know what to do.  He seems sincere...and all he really did was say a bunch of really shitty, ignorant things. It’s not like you’ve never had to deal with that before.  At least he seems harmless, which is admittedly a plus for you.  You sigh.  “I guess...that’s okay.”

“Really?” Dirk asks.

“Yeah.”

“ _Really_?”

“He said yes, chief, so back off!” Cronus says.  “I’ll go get your wheelchair.”

“Are you sure?” Dirk asks as Cronus jogs to the other side of the pool.

You grimace. “I mean...”  There are a lot of things you want to say about keeping the peace, a lot of reasons why you don’t want to give up on this venture yet, but you don’t know if you have the words yet.  “Yeah, I think this is okay.”

“You have my number if things get weird,” Dirk says.  You wish you could see his eyes.

“Okay. And...thanks, a lot.”

“No problem.”

“Okay, okay,” Cronus says, setting your chair near you.  “Just let me know when you’re ready.  I’ll go change.”

After you’ve changed, Dirk helps you into Cronus’s fancy car while Cronus hovers nearby, watching with a critical quirk to his eyebrow.  Dirk folds your lightweight athletic chair and slips it easily into the trunk.  “See you on Monday,” he says to you with a small wave.

“Yeah,” you say, “see you in band class.”

“Okay, let’s go!” Cronus says, slipping into the driver’s seat.  His sports car hardy makes a noise when he starts it, and he rips out of the driveway without a backward glance at Dirk. You grip the seat and press yourself into your backrest as he swerves carelessly through traffic. “What kind of ice cream do you like?” he asks you.

“Uh, it’s okay, if you don’t want to buy me ice cream.  That was a little unnecessary, probably.”

“No, champ, if I say I’m going to buy you ice cream, that’s what I’m going to do. What’s a guy like me worth if I can’t keep my word?”

“That’s...unexpected, actually.”

Cronus sighs.  “He’s already got you brainwashed against me, doesn’t he?” he says.  “That didn’t take long.  You’d think I was the worst person in the universe. I don’t know why he bothers to hang out with me if he _so obviously_ thinks I’m the scum of the earth.”

“Uh, well, it’s not what he says, really, that made me think that, so much as your general disposition.”

He pouts, and you grab at the door as he slides into a small gap between two cars. “Nobody understands me,” he says, turning to you with big, wet eyes.  “I’m just a sensitive, artistic person who wants to hang out and make friends.  Is that so terrible? Just because I’m from a wealthy family and have had few life experiences with cruder sections of the populous doesn’t mean I’m a huge jerk.  I’m just misunderstood.  If everyone wasn’t so quick to gang up on me, they’d see what a cool cat I can be. I mean, I’m just like everyone else, mostly, except for my amazing skills and gentle, genuine desire to be there for others.”

You examine his face.  He actually believes everything he’s saying.  You can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.  On one hand, you know he’s not trying to be a manipulative asshole on purpose.  On the other...that means he doesn’t actually think he’s being a manipulative asshole at all.  Either way, you don’t know if you’re the right person to correct him.  You never could stand up to Vriska when she was twisting her words against you.  But she was doing it on purpose.  If Cronus is just a misguided jerk who can’t keep a friend because he doesn’t know how to watch his tongue, maybe you have a chance to hold your ground against him.

“I like chocolate ice cream,” you say. 

You try not to drip in his car as he pulls up to your mobile home.  He hasn’t said anything since you entered the trailer park, but his face expresses all the comments you know he’s biting down. He looks as though he’s afraid the dust from the road will permanently stick to his car, that somehow the air surrounding the old, rickety homes will flow through the vents and make his car smell bad forever. 

“This is your house?” he asks as he cuts the gas.

“Uh, yeah. I live here with my brother.”

“It’s...nice.”

It’s so obvious he’s lying that you can’t even thank him for the compliment. You both sit silently in the car for a moment, and the only thing that could make you feel more awkward would be asking for his help to get out of the car.  Unfortunately, you’re sure that he’s forgotten about your chair.

“...Cronus, uh...I can’t get out until...”

“Oh! Oh, right.  Give me a second,” he says.  He grimaces as his nice shoes hit the gravel.

To be polite and to break the tension as he holds your chair steady for you, you say, “You can come in, if you want to take a look around, since you said you don’t get to spend time with people like me, and maybe you could benefit from learning about other people.”  You don’t expect him to take you up on your offer, but to your dismay, he pauses and looks at you with dawning interest.

“Yeah,” he says.  “Yeah, maybe you’re right.  This could be a chance for us to overcome our impassable differences.  We could build a bridge between our respective socioeconomic statuses and form a forbidden roman—“

“Friendship,” you interrupt hastily.

“Friendship. Right.  Those are important, too,” he says. He turns to study your small home for a moment.  “Lead the way.”

You sigh. You didn’t expect him to agree. Cronus follows as you push yourself up the ramp to the door, and you try not to cringe as you open it. It’s a mess.  You used to be so neat before your accident, but doing your chores is just so much more cumbersome now.  With Rufioh being as busy as he is, you would never ask him to clean.  At least there’s nothing on the floor, which you have Rufioh to thank for.  Maneuvering your chair through the house would be a pain if the floor weren’t clear.

“So this is where you live?” Cronus says.  He’s trying so hard not to sound judgmental, and you can’t decide if you feel irritated by his attitude or grateful that he’s trying to be polite.

“Yeah,” you say.  “It’s small, but not so bad.  I think it’s comfortable enough for two people, one of whom is just barely an adult, and—“

“But don’t you need _room_ for that thing?” he asks, gesturing towards your chair.

“Well, yes, but this is enough, and it’s actually nice since everything is close, and—“

“Don’t you have parents?  Why are you living here alone with your brother?  He’s clearly not fit to take care of you.”

“That’s not true at all,” you say, frowning.  “He takes good care of me, and he supports me, as one of my best friends, so—“

Before you can finish, the door opens, and Rufioh peeks in.  “Tavros?  Who’s car is—who’s this?”

“Oh, Rufioh? But...you’re not supposed to be off work for another hour.”

“I texted you.  Did you get it?”

You frown and dig through your pants for your phone.  You had it on silent during practice, so you didn’t notice it go off.  As you pull it out of your pocket, Cronus leans over and whispers into your ear, “Is that your brother?”

“Yeah,” you say, sparing him a glance.  You pause when you notice his expression.  Open mouth, sparkling eyes, huge pupils...he’s practically drooling. This can’t be good news.

“What are you gaping at?” you ask, trying your best to whisper even though you were never good at keeping your voice down.

“I’m going to hang out here for a while, if that’s okay with you, champ,” he says. Rufioh glances between you both with a raised eyebrow, and you resist the urge to slap your hand to your face. You should have let Dirk drive you home.


	3. The Mysterious Dirk Strider

When Dirk raps, his words slice through the air like the crack of a whip, so fast and sharp they leave you stunned.  The hair on the back of your neck is standing up, your blood is bubbling in your veins, and your fingers stumble over the strings of your guitar with a fervent, jittery energy that makes it difficult to stay on beat. You want to listen to him all afternoon.  Unfortunately, you can’t.

“Tavros!” Cronus barks, bringing the song to a crashing halt.  You lower your head with chagrin.

“Sorry.”

“Come _on_ , that was your cue! Don’t even tell me that you’re still hesitating. We went over it _at least_ thirty times!”

“Yeah, I know, but...”  You glance at Dirk and bite your lip.  “I guess I’m still nervous about singing in front of people.”  It’s not quite the truth, but it’s all you’re willing to admit.

Cronus eyes flash from yours to Dirk.  “Oh, so you’re still _nervous_ ,” he sneers, putting his hands on his hips.  “I can just _see_ how nervous you are. Look at you, all flushed and breathless.  So _nervous_.”

You frown. “Um, yeah.  It’s all just nerves, because I still don’t know about this vocalist thing.”

“We can switch parts, if it’s a problem,” Dirk says.  You hope he’s not annoyed.  Or, if he is annoyed, you hope he’s annoyed with Cronus and not you.

“No,” Cronus says with a stubborn snap that betrays his actual level of maturity. “I picked this song because I _know_ he can sing it, and I want him to sing it!  Harmonize with me.”

Cronus opens his mouth and sings a note, and you try your best to harmonize with him the way he taught you to.  Your voice floats on top of his deeper, richer tone, warm and edged but a tad shrill. Cronus cuts the note with a huff. “You’re sharp.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.  You play that guitar like a champ, so I know you can hear yourself when you’re sharp. Try again.”  You sigh as he produces the note again, and you do your best to control your vocal chords.  This time, the notes slide together to create an agreeable tone. “Good!  Now, sing the actual lyrics.  You have to actually _sing them_ if you want to move on.  It would be nice if you’d stop playing your guitar like a vertigo stricken spazbot, too.”

“Are you done with your lecture?” Dirk asks.

“Don’t snap at me!  _He’s_ the one getting it wrong,” Cronus says. Your ears turn a little pink.

“Well, you’re not very supportive of me, or of my attempts to master the tasks you’ve given to me, which I’ve only had a week to work on,” you say.

“Don’t be coy. _I_ know why you’re screwing up, and it’s not because you haven’t had enough time to practice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can you quit picking fights with everyone?” Dirk says, directing the question towards Cronus.  “If he says he feels self-conscious singing, give him some time to get used to it. That’s why we’re practicing. The literal purpose of having practice together is to get the hang of our parts, which is exactly what he’s doing.”

“What even _ever_ ,” Cronus says. “Let’s just go through it again.”

Dirk slams out a beat on the drums, and you begin to play through the song, moving through the same notes you’ve been practicing all week.  You try hard to concentrate on your own part instead of letting Dirk’s unbelievable skill overwhelm you, but you feel him slice through your mind, undermining your concentration.  You hang onto the motion of your fingers and follow the beat of the drums with singular focus to block him out as much as you can. When you hear you cue, you open your mouth.  You already know you’re going to sound bad before the breath leaves your body. Cronus lets his arms drop from his keytar with a groan you can hear over your amp.

“What was that?” he demands as the music dies.

“It’s just a lot to think about.”

“It’s not that much to think about!” he says, walking over to you with a chair. He drops it in front of you with a loud clang and sits, glaring at you with open annoyance.  He’s not even trying to hide his irritation behind a strained smile and passive aggressive remarks like he usually does. “We talked about this. You need to stop with this...’aaaAAAH’ thing you do.  You need to _punch it_ , like ‘AH!’ You hear the difference? It’s all in the breath, okay? It’s in the diaphragm. You need to learn how to control your lungs.  Have you been doing those breathing exercises I gave you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But, just putting this out there, I don’t think they’ve been working for me, because whenever I try to sing with the music, it’s different than when I sing by myself in a quiet place.”

“ _Obviously_ it’s going to be different!  It’s all in your mind.  You have the potential to be a damn good vocalist, but you’re just _not_. Do you know how frustrating that is for me, champ?  Do you know how unbelievably infuriating it is to walk you through these exercises, only to watch you botch them, time and again?”

“It’s probably frustrating, I guess, but—“

“Look, if this is going to work out, you need to stop getting your panties in a bunch about _you know what_.” He gestures to Dirk with the slightest of nods and a flash of the eyes.  “God, and I thought I was bad.  It’s embarrassing watching you pine.”

“Okay, no, I told you that that’s—“

“Are you a part of this band or not?”

Cronus jumps as Dirk drops his hand heavily onto his shoulder.  “How about this,” he says, squeezing in a way that doesn’t seem altogether friendly, “let’s learn one of Tavros’s songs for next week, and we can try this one again when he feels more comfortable.”

You and Cronus exchange a glance.  “Uh, well, that would be a good idea,” you say, “but...I let Cronus pick my songs for me, since I’m not good at keeping up with the modern music scene, and since I don’t know what everyone likes.  As a guitarist, anyway, a lot of the stuff that would be most fun for me, I think, is older, and I don’t think classic rock is our sound, right?”

Dirk sighs and reaches under his sunglasses to rub his eyes.  “Was that your idea?” he asks Cronus, squeezing his shoulder a little harder.

“I know what you’re thinking, chief,” Cronus says with a nervous twitch to his smile, “but we came to that decision together during a long, fulfilling talk about our artistic visions.  Right, champ?”

He looks at you, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes again.  “Is that how it went?” you say.

“Yeah, don’t you remember?  You told me how concerned you were about finding our sound, and I offered to give you guidance in the form of a hands-on modern music education, mostly involving the most underground, innovative artists.  Remember?”

He stares you down with an imploring arch to his eyebrows, and you sigh. “Oh, yeah, right. That conversation, in which we both said those things you just said, probably verbatim.”  

“Okay, whatever,” Dirk says, releasing Cronus’s shoulder.  “Let’s just call it a night.  We can figure out which song we’re practicing for next week later.”

“You’re the boss,” Cronus says, but he sends you a look that cues you into his irritation. You return the look, but only because you wish practice would actually last as long as it’s supposed to for once. You blame Cronus, but you wouldn’t tell him that, mostly because you know he’d moan about it for hours.

“Tavros,” Dirk says as you begin to pack up.  You look up at him.  “I know you usually hang out here to swim, but do you want to come over to my place for a bit?  You’re actually allowed to rap there, as well as engage in other enjoyable activities that are prohibited here for some reason.”

“Yes,” you say before Cronus can sneak in a complaint.

“Oh, what, so you’re just going to ditch me now?” Cronus asks.

“I’ve been hanging out with you all week,” you say.  “And besides, we’re going to the mall together tomorrow, with my brother, like you asked me to arrange, remember?  So it’s not like I’m really ditching you.”

“Oh, right,” he says, brightening immediately.  “Well, I guess that’s fine then.  I supposed it’s fair for all of us to have some quality time with each other on our own terms.”

“How kind of you,” Dirk says with a tone so dry it could parch your throat, and you can’t suppress your smile.

“Do those vocal exercises I gave you,” Cronus calls after you as you roll out the door, and you grimace.

“Whatever. Let’s get out of here,” Dirk says, leading the way to his car.  It’s not nearly as fancy as Cronus’s, but it looks clean and well-kept. He tucks your chair into the trunk after you scoot into the passenger’s seat.

“I’d say you can meet my brother,” Dirk says as he slides behind the wheel and starts the car in one smooth movement, “but he’s apparently going to be spending the afternoon at his girlfriend’s place.  It’s really too bad, because I think you’d get along with him well.”

“Uh, yeah, he sounds a pretty cool guy, from what you’ve told me,” you say.

“He’s better than Cronus, at least.  I’ve noticed that you two have been hanging out recently.”

You grimace. “Well, yeah, we have, and I guess it’s not terrible.  It’s mostly just because he thinks my brother’s hot, which is a common opinion people have, so I guess I don’t blame Cronus for wanting to get to know him. Or, I guess, ogle at him shamelessly while trying not to touch anything in our house, because he’s a snob.”

A small smirk pulls at the corner of Dirk’s mouth.  “That pretty much sums up his personality,” he says. The smirk slips. “You know you don’t have to hang out with him if you don’t want to, right?  He’s a master of guilt trips and a expert at peer pressure, so don’t let him bully you into being his friend if it turns out to be a poisonous relationship for you.”

“No, it’s fine...I think maybe I wasn’t being nice about him just then, but I don’t think he’s as awful of a person as he might seem, even though he has terrible social skills and thinks the world revolves around him.  He’s not the greatest friend, but he invites me over to swim with him, and he lets me listen to his music and tries to make me better at singing and things like that.  As far as being a bully, he’s not as bad as some of the people I used to hang out with, so I’m at least grateful about that.  It’s better than not having anyone to hang out with at all, which is lonely and boring.  I just know better than to trust him with anything important.”

“He’s _better_ than some of the people you used to hang out with?”

“Uh, yeah, not all of them, but...I guess a lot of the people I grew up with are kind of violent. It’s probably our neighborhood, or the situation we grew up in, or something...I think I might be making it sound worse than it is, but some of the people I used to hang out with were not all that nice to me.”

Dirk is silent for a moment, and then he says, “After what you told us about your accident, I can see where you’re coming from.  Even Cronus is better than somebody who pushes people off buildings.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” you say.  “I think, not to justify his actions by any means, that he’s lonely and needs someone to pay attention to him, who he’s not particularly attracted to, meaning me, and that might help him be less insufferable.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure that he’s not attracted to you.”

“Uh...well, I don’t think...I mean, he doesn’t seem fond of my disability, and he’s apparently more attracted to, uh...other people.”

“Like your brother?”

“...Yeah.”

Dirk sighs. “I know he’s into me, if that’s what you’re trying to skirt around.”

“Oh, then yeah, also you.”

“Just because he’s attracted to other people doesn’t mean he’s not attracted to you, though. He’s more than capable of harboring multiple crushes at once.  In fact, it may be one of his most developed skills.”

“I’m just really not attractive enough for him to be attracted to me, I think. I’m not concerned about it.”

Dirk glances at you with a raised eyebrow.  “Not that it’s any of my business, but I wouldn’t be so quick to call yourself unattractive.”

“Uh...” you say, and to your dismay, you feel a blush rise on your cheeks. “Anyway!  It doesn’t matter, whatever we were just talking about before...that.  I don’t really remember why it came up.”

“You were saying that Cronus is a poor, lonely baby who needs someone incapable of giving him a hard-on to serve as his moral compass,” Dirk says.  “But hold that thought.  We’re here.”

Dirk pulls up to a colossal apartment building, which looms bare and stern over the treeless parking lot.  He gets out and comes around the car, unfolding your chair on the way.  “Our apartment is on the top floor,” he says. “It’s got a great view.” He leads you through the doors and to the elevator, which is a little too cramped for your liking, and you try not to run over his toes.  You hate cramped spaces because they remind you of how much space you take up. You feel like you’re squashing Dirk against the wall.  He doesn’t seem to mind, but his face never betrays anything when he doesn’t want it to, so you can’t trust your judgment.

With a ping, the door of the elevator slides open, and Dirk leads you down a hallway to the last door, which he opens without fumbling with his keys.  To your surprise, his apartment is much more cluttered than your house.  It makes your bedroom look sterile.  Strange little dolls are strewn across the floor, wires from various electronics cross the room, puppets hang from the walls and sprawl across the furniture, and an enormous television covers the only part of the walls that aren’t plastered over with posters.  In the middle of the living room are Dirk’s turntables and equipment, lifted above the ground on cinder blocks.  You hear Dirk draw in a breath next to you.

“I didn’t think this through,” he said.  “Give me a second to pick up.  Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say as he moves past you.  He picks everything up so swiftly you can hardly follow his progress. He pauses to glance around, and then he gestures for you to enter.

“This is our humble abode,” he says, sitting in the cushioned chair he keeps in front of his computer.  “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s nice,” you say, examining his posters.  He likes a lot of strange stuff.  A lot of puppets.  Creepy puppets. But everyone has to have a hobby, right?

“A lot of this stuff is Dave’s,” he says, and you get the feeling he’s watching you for your reaction.  “We have a thing for ironic junk, if that makes sense.  You seem like a genuine kind of guy, so you might not be about picking shit up for ironic purposes.  It’s all about artful insincerity.  Kind of as a joke, more or less.”

“Oh,” you say.  You eye a puppet version of Jigsaw strung up against the wall.  “Um...I don’t think I get it, but that’s okay.  I have a friend who does some really strange things, like worship clowns, but liking things that I don’t understand never made it hard for us to get along, or made it difficult for me to like anyone else I’ve ever met.  It’s kind of fun, actually, because when two people have different interests and see things differently, they always have plenty of topics to talk about, and they can appreciate each other for what makes them unique.”

“And none of that was anything less than completely, unapologetically genuine, was it?” Dirk asks.  The corner of his lips quirk up in what you’ve come to recognize as his way of smiling.

“Uh...no?”

“That’s fine.  You’re probably right anyway.”  He gets up and moves to the kitchen, which is attached to the living room.  “Do you want something to drink?”  He opens the fridge, and a pile of fake weapons falls out.  He stares at it for a moment before closing the fridge.

“Uh, I think I’m fine.”

“No water?” he asks, opening a cupboard instead.  It’s also packed with useless sharp objects, but there are at least a couple glasses inside.

“Maybe some water,” you say.  He pulls out two glasses and moves to the sink to fill them up.  Before he turns on the tap, he extracts a number of fireworks.  “Uh...so...” you say as he fills up the glasses, “you live here with just your brother?”

“Yeah, it’s just the two of us.”

“Do you...I mean, where are your parents?”

“We’re orphans,” he says, walking over to you with a full glass.  He hands it to you, and you know that, with a glance at your face, he can see how shocked and dismayed you feel with that statement. Without missing a beat or breaking his facade, he drops into his chair and explains, “We have a hells of rich uncle who’s involved with Hollywood, but he’s not too keen on us, so he set us up with this apartment and a trust fund and left us to our own devices. I’ve been keeping an eye on Dave since middle school.”

“Wow,” you say, trying to keep your eyes from getting too huge.  “That’s really...it sounds really hard on you, but it’s also impressive that you were able to take care of your brother when you were so young.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says with a minute shrug.  “Your older brother takes care of you, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but it’s only been a while he’s been doing it, just a couple months, and he’s basically an adult anyway.  We moved out here together, to get away from some of the situations that were causing us problems back home.”

“You mean the people you were talking about earlier?”

“Uh, yeah...after my accident, we thought it would be best if we escaped, before everything escalated.  He has his own problems, too, involving significant others, which almost caused him worse bodily injury than I sustained, so we made the decision together.”

“Goddamn,” Dirk says, his brow pulling down slightly.  “Rough neighborhood.”

“Well...” You sigh.  You don’t want to give him the wrong impression, but you don’t know how not to.  Even though you hardly know him, you feel compelled to explain yourself, to dissect your past for him so he doesn’t develop a picture of you that’s not entirely accurate.  “I had some very good friends, such as the girl next door, Aradia, who had an older sister who hung out with my brother, and also my friend Gamzee, who I used to rap with sometimes.  Aradia and I liked to play games together, which, when we got to high school, included LARPing with some friends we made at school.  They were two girls, and they were...well, one didn’t really have parents, and the other, um, her mother wasn’t nice to her, in bad ways. That one, the second one, has always been kind of mean to me, as a bully—I guess they were both bullies to other kids as well, but only the one was really mean to me—and our games became too intense.  That’s when she pushed me off the roof of the school building.  I think...maybe Cronus is right that she liked me, but we weren’t dating at all, so I don’t know what made her so angry with me, or even if she was angry at all.  And my brother...he started dating my friend’s sister, and then he cheated on her with another guy, and she tried to run him over with a car.  We think she was crazy, though.  She was bullied a lot.  I guess there were a lot of bullies around, but most of us were okay. Like Aradia and Gamzee.”

Dirk sits quietly while you explain yourself, his face as impassive as always. You hope that he’s not looking down on you for keeping bad company or making bad decisions, and you _really_ hope he’s not scoffing internally at the environment you grew up in.  You don’t want him to think you’re a lost cause from a broken neighborhood, a hoodlum careening towards destruction. Maybe you should tell him about how you secretly believe fairies are real, or about how you used to watch Disney’s _Peter Pan_ on repeat growing up, or how you’re unusually adept at communicating with animals, almost as if you had a sympathetic connection with them.  If you spewed out facts about yourself until you ran out of things to say, maybe it would cancel out your unfortunately violent past. But you know that’s not the way people are supposed to get to know each other, so you close your mouth and wait.

“What about those other guys?” Dirk asks.  “Aradia and Gamzee.  Are you too far to hang out with them anymore, or did they just ditch you when you moved away? It doesn’t seem to me like you’re the one who severed those ties.”

“Uh...” you say, feeling your stomach drop, “well...Gamzee can’t drive anymore because he got caught with substances, and Aradia...died, not long after my accident, so...”

“Oh, shit, sorry.  I didn’t mean to be a dick. I just thought that—never mind, I wasn’t thinking.” 

“No, no, it’s fine, really, because there’s no reason why that would be an inappropriate thing that ask about,” you say, holding your hands up.  “If...I was looking a little sad just then, it’s just because it hasn’t really been that long since it happened, and she was a good friend from my childhood.  It wasn’t because you said anything that was offensive or problematic to me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you wonder what he must be thinking. Is he embarrassed? Does he feel bad? “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says at last.  “Was it—I mean, if it’s not too much for me to ask, how did it happen?  We can change the subject, though, if you want.”

Despite a small pang of discomfort, you’re relieved.  You haven’t talked about Aradia with anyone but your brother, and even though it’s a terribly painful subject, you’re almost glad he’s comfortable enough to ask.  Even more, you’re glad you feel comfortable enough to answer.  “There are a lot of different stories,” you say, “but all anyone knows is that her house caught on fire.  A lot of people think it was arson. I think so, too. Because she wasn’t very happy with what happened to me, and I think she was picking fights with people she shouldn’t have been picking fights with.”

“You mean the girl who hurt you?”

“Yeah, her.”

“You know, I’m not as quick as Cronus to call a girl a psycho bitch, but I think your friend might have been a bit batshit insane.”

“She was. I’m pretty sure of that now, even though I wasn’t when I knew her.”  You inhale and run your fingers through your mohawk. You don’t really like talking about Vriska as much as you have been.

He looks you over for a moment and says, “To be honest, I’m really surprised to hear all of this.  I would never have guessed any of it by just talking to you.  You seem so mild-mannered and sincere, it boggles my mind that a guy like you could get wrapped up in anything like that.  That’s rough, man.”

“It’s not—I mean, it’s not something that I choose to let define me, so even though it sounds pretty horrible when I lay it all on the table like that, I think there are plenty of other things that I can build myself on, which would be more true to who I am.”

He smiles, a smile that an actual person would consider an actual smile and not the tiny change in his mouth that usually cues you into his expression. “You’re a tough kid.”

You feel the heat of a blush cover your cheeks, and you glance away.  “No, no, I don’t think I am, really. I mean, compared to you, who took up an amazing amount of responsibility for your brother’s sake, I’m not that tough, because the things that happened to me were out of my control and I just reacted to them, whereas you had to make choices that were hard, so, uh, realistically, of the two of us, you’re much more tough than I am, probably.”

“Me? Nah,” Dirk says, propping his chin up on his fist as he watches you with apparent amusement. “Giving up a few unnecessary pleasures in life when someone depends on you isn’t tough.  It’s basic decency.  I probably could have had a better social life in high school, yeah, but I’m not going to ignore the needs of my brother for that. That’d be the most uncool kind of selfish a person can achieve without literally undermining another person.”

“But, regardless of the expected amounts of selflessness that might be required of you in this situation, I bet you had to make a lot of sacrifices, which were difficult for you as a teenager, right?”  You lean forward slightly, glad the focus has been taken off of you. Maybe now you can learn a thing or two about Dirk Strider’s mysterious life.

“I guess you could say that,” he says with the smallest of sighs.  “I had to stop hanging out with friends to watch after Dave in the evenings, so you and I have the loneliness factor in common. Not to the same degree, though, obviously.  I still kept in contact with my friends through texting and online chats, so it wasn’t a huge, drastic change that shook the foundations of my world.  I will admit that it’s hard as fuck to land a date when you have to keep an eye on a shitty little preteen every night, which was probably the most frustrating thing about the whole deal.”

“Were you wanting to land many dates?” you ask.  You try not to seem too interested in this topic, but you’d be lying if you said your interest wasn’t piqued.  Not because you’re scouting for information or anything like that, but romantic backstories say a lot about a person, right?

“Well,” he says, “you could say that.  If we’re going to talk about sacrifices, I’ll admit to one sacrifice I made for the kid that actually sucked the smelliest ass this side of the world. There was this guy I liked, a really close friend of mine that was just...the dorkiest, most naive kid you could ever meet, who talked like he came straight from the turn of the century without any explanation whatsoever.  I was pretty bummed when I had to let that go.  The only reason I don’t mind bringing it up now is because my little bro just recently started dating his little sister, and I have no idea what could count as a more ironic twist of shit than that clusterfuck of events.”

An unrequited crush?  You wouldn’t have expected that from him.  He seems like the kind of guy you’d expect to rule romance without much difficulty. Even now, the way he leans back into his chair seems so effortlessly suave.  “But, if your brother is old enough now to date his sister, doesn’t that mean that you have the freedom now to try again with him?”

“Yeah, you’d think so, but the world doesn’t wait for anyone to get their shit together.  He’s got a girlfriend now, some college chick who goes by the name of Aranea and likes to dress in blue.  He always did have a thing for women in blue.”

“Wait. Aranea?  Aranea...what’s her last name?”

“I have no idea.  I think it starts with an S.”

“Is it Serket?”

Dirk pauses for a moment.  “It might be. Do you know her?”

 _Fuck_.  “I, uh...no, I just think I’ve heard of her before, through a mutual friend, maybe...”

“Well, whatever.  You might have the chance to find out.  I’ve been thinking about asking my friend’s sister, Dave’s girlfriend, if she wants to join our band.  She plays the bass.  If she does join, I guarantee he’ll come watch us play, and he’ll probably bring her along. He’d probably come anyway, since that whole group of friends has been pissing themselves about my decision to come out of my hermit hole until they’re too dehydrated to make any coherent sense, but adding his sister to the mix sweetens the deal.  Don’t tell Cronus yet, though.  I’m preparing to bicker with him for a day and a half about it, and I don’t want him to start planning for ways to blackmail me into doing some nasty shit for him ahead of time.”

 _SHIT._   This is not at all good news for you, but you don’t know what to do about it. You don’t really want to breach the subject of Serkets with Dirk right now, or ever, to be honest, but if Aranea hears about your participation in the band and tells Vriska... _fuck_.  You can feel the slow pressure of anxiety squeezing your torso, so you decide it would be wise to change the subject and deal with it later, when you’re not sitting in the middle of Dirk’s living room for the first time ever.

“You okay?” Dirk asks, and you feel terrible that you’re so obvious.

“Yes, yeah, I was just thinking about what a pain Cronus would be for you, and how he sometimes acts like you two have some sort of weird hate-love affair...which is just unsavory, to me, as an onlooker who knows that’s probably not the case.”

“You have no idea,” he says, and his tone conveys the same exasperation as rolling his eyes would. “Let’s not talk about it.”

You’re glad to have an avenue to change the subject.  “So, did you start to hang out with Cronus because your brother became old enough to not be watched, or...?”

“You could say that.  He came at about the right time, and his offer seemed pretty fucking sweet at the moment. Like I said, up until then, I had just kept to my hobbies and taught my little bro everything I could to ease his passage into manhood, such as the subtleties of ironic humor and the art of dropping beats so ill they could inspire the quarantine of an entire first-world city.  Now that he’s almost old enough to take care of himself, I have to deal with my empty nest syndrome like a housewife who just sent her last kid off to college.”

Your mind clamps onto the mention of ill beats, and your face breaks into a grin as you toe into territory you’ve been waiting to talk about since you first met him. “Oh, yeah, by the way, you were really decimating the mic today!  It was pretty much amazing, and also really put me in the mood to slam out some rhymes, which I know you must be just as good at dishing out as you are at rapping other’s lyrics.”

“Fuck yes, that’s the sort of attitude I hoped you’d bring to my crib,” he says with a smirk tugging at his lips.  He stands up.  “That reminds me, I want you to meet somebody.  Follow me.”

He turns and exits through a doorway to a narrow hall, leading you to a door that he holds open for you.  It’s clearly his bedroom, and it’s just as messy as the living room.  In addition to the puppets and strange plushies that litter the rest of the house, robot parts cover the floor and a desk by the window.  You jump as he steps past you and cleans up most of the stray objects in a flash.

“Okay,” he says, nodding for you to enter.  You feel a little weird coming into his room, but your curiosity is overwhelming. You can’t keep your eyes off his stuff.  Seeing the way he lives is illuminating huge patches of dark spots in your mind’s picture of him. “Over here,” he says, and he gestures to a squat, square robot that fidgets with programmed enthusiasm. Dirk’s lips quirk up as you roll towards him, open-mouthed.  “This little guy is Squarewave, a robot I built myself to keep my tongue sharp and serrated.  He’s one part of a pair, but the other, Sawtooth, comes and goes as he sees fit. It’s a lofty ambition to aspire to beat Sawtooth in a rap battle, but Squarewave here isn’t nearly as tough. He’ll give you a fun duel whenever you want, free of consequence.”

“’Sup dogg!” the robot says to you, radiating excitement.

“So this is your rap robot,” you say, unable to check your grin.  “This is so cool.  I can’t believe you’re smart enough to make this.”

“Well, when you’re trapped in an apartment with a brat who only seeks you out when he wants to get his ass handed to him, you develop some hobbies. I bet you can sympathize with that.”

“Yeah, I think so, but it’s like I said before, I really don’t think I benefited from my alone time by developing cool hobbies.  Mine are not nearly this awesome.”

“And it’s like I said before, I’m sure yours are plenty cool enough.  What do you like to do in your spare time? I know you collect Pokémon cards, play guitar, and swim, but I’m under the impression that you’ve got more going on than that.”

He’s giving you the chance to fill in the details about yourself you would have loved to list earlier, but now, after learning more about him, you can’t help but feel a little bit lame.  Fairies and animals and Peter Pan?  Those aren’t really things that can stand up to a rapping robot. “Uh...” you say, “I don’t really...I mean, I do things sometimes, like play games, but mostly, my hobbies and interests aren’t much to talk about.”

“Bro, I don’t know if you noticed that nearly every piece of furniture I own is covered with smut plushies and puppets, but if you need a better reason to not feel self-conscious about your interests, I suggest you feast your eyes on this kickass poster of Rainbow Dash from _My Little Ponies_.  This adoration is not even ironic.  It is a one hundred percent, completely shameless interest I have.”

“But, as for the rest of the things you own, it’s mostly for, uh, ironic humorous purposes, right?” you say, glancing at the pile of plushies at the foot of his bed. _Smut_ plushies.

“Don’t worry about it.  It’s hardly fair that you get this rare peek into my secret life outside of school without framing the context of yours for me.  Don’t worry about earning my approval.  That friend I was talking about earlier loves every single movie he watches, without fail, and I never once judged him for it.  Like you said, differences in interests make things more fun.”

You’re a little put off that he brought up the friend again, but there is something reassuring in the statement.  You shift a bit and say, “I guess, if I were to list my interests, I would say...well, okay, so to frame this in a better light, I’ll describe to you the things I used to do before my accident.  When I was young, Aradia and I, as well as her sister and my brother, we used to go to the beach or walk to a park near us and pretend to be from Peter Pan or to search for buried treasure or ancient ruins or things like that. I remember that I was always a Lost Boy, and my brother was always Peter Pan, with the older girl being Wendy and my friend being Tinkerbell.  We used to climb trees and build little forts out of junk we found, and we would make up fake mythologies and legends for everything as a sort of game. And my brother and I would feed stray animals from out of our little fortresses.  So, I guess that kind of summarizes the sort of interests I have.  Fantasy scenarios, fun and not-dangerous adventures, mythologies and legends and lore, and I guess role playing in general.  And animals.  I would want to be a veterinarian if I were smarter, but since I’m not, I probably won’t get into veterinary school.”

“What a kickass childhood,” Dirk says, and you’re surprised to see his smile widen into something genuinely expressive again.  “So the fantasy scene is your schitck?”

“Uh, yeah. You could say that, if I were to pick a personal motif for my life, it would be Peter Pan, or maybe fairies, which I like a lot, even though they aren’t real.”  You can’t tell if you’re feeling self-conscious or pleased anymore, but you’re too shy to look him in the face.  “But, those were all just examples of the hobbies that I used to have, which I don’t now, because I can’t climb trees or navigate the sand of the beach well without a lot of effort.  But...sometimes my brother and I still make little forts in our house while we watch movies.”

You notice Dirk’s finger tap on his arm as he looks at you.  “You know what?” he says.  “Since my brother’s not in tonight, there’s really no reason for us to lock ourselves up inside and spurn the light of day.  You like beaches?  Let’s go to the goddamn beach.  I’ll drive my tin can of a ride right up to the edge of the water and we can both flop out onto the sand from out of our open doors. We’ll roll around and build sand castles.  I’ll put some beats on in my car if you want to lay down some rhymes.  How’s that sound?”

Your mouth falls open.  You don’t know how to respond, or if you can respond at all.  His almost imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Uh, yeah,” you finally manage, “yeah, that sounds great.  I would like that a lot, if you don’t mind going all the way there, or wasting time doing that sort of thing.”

“My whole young adult life has been a glorified waste of time,” Dirk says with a wave of his hand.  “Going to the beach sounds like a nice fucking change, if you ask me.  Do you still have your bathing suit with you?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll get mine.  Who knows, maybe we’ll sit our asses in the water for a while.”

Dirk rummages through his drawers to find a pair of swimming trunks he’s apparently not used in ages, and you watch him, a warm feeling swelling in your chest. You’re beginning to think that maybe Cronus is right.  Maybe your fascination with Dirk Strider isn’t just a product of your appreciation of his general aesthetic.  Maybe you actually just want to kiss him.


	4. Clap Your Hands

You’re sitting in the Ampora’s spacious living room with their cat Barfy on your lap. Cronus mumbles to himself as he works through the lyrics he’s been writing for the last two hours. Barfy rubs his face against yours and you giggle despite your itchy eyes and running nose, gently scratching behind each of his fuzzy ears.  His throat rumbles as he purrs.

“Okay! Are you ready for this, champ?” Cronus says, sitting up abruptly.  You and Barfy both look at him.

“Oh, are you finally finished?” you ask.  Barfy leaps from your lap and meanders over to Cronus, yowling for attention.

“Get away from me, you mangy beast,” Cronus growls, kicking the cat away as it rubs against his leg.  With an angry meow, the cat disappears up the stairs.

“He would like you if you weren’t such a dick,” you say, frowning.

“If it has fur and warm blood, I want nothing to do—wait, aren’t you allergic?”

You shrug. “Yeah, but I’ll be okay, probably.” You sniffle.

His eyes grow narrow. “You have to sing later, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.  But he’s just so cute, I can’t resist petting him some.”

“If you complain, you won’t get any sympathy from me.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll try to control myself.”  You try not to sound too sarcastic.

“Just making sure, champ.  But let’s refocus.” His eyes light up as he thrusts a notebook in your direction.  “Here, read these over and tell me what you think.  Don’t try to spare my feelings.  I am totally ready for any brutal honesty you can send my way.  Within reason, of course.”

You doubt that, but you take the notebook nonetheless.  Your face falls as your eyes skim over the lyrics. They’re not bad artistically, but they’re absolutely obscene, almost pornographic.  “I’m not singing this,” you say, handing it back to him.

“What?” he says, the excitement vanishing from his face.  “What do you mean?  What’s wrong with them?  I need constructive criticism here.”

“If I were to offer constructive criticism, I would suggest changing your subject matter to something less explicit, maybe to something I might feel comfortable saying in front of people.  This is definitely inappropriate, and also maybe offensive to large groups of people.”

With that theatrical groan you swear only he could manage, he rolls his eyes and falls back onto the couch.  “That’s just great, Tavros.  Go straight for my inspiration and spare no comment for my skill.  Just cut my creativity out at the root. Attack the very foundations of my identity.”

“Okay, no, I’m not even doing that, and my critiques are perfectly reasonable, as a member of this band and also as the budding main vocalist, who will have to sing the words you give me.  Also, if this is a reflection of your identity, I suggest you go outside for a bit, maybe to hike through the woods to do some personal self-reflection. Just saying.”

“Dirk would like them,” he says pointedly.

“No, I doubt that from being the case.”

“He would. He might even post the song on his _smuppet website_. The one where he posts his _puppet porn_ for money. Because he’s _pornographic_.”

You frown. Cronus looks at you with a faux innocent expression that’s obviously masking a layer of smugness. He wants you to ask. You want to ask, but you don’t want to encourage him.  You weigh your options and sigh.  “What are you talking about?”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?”

“...No.”

“He makes thousands of dollars a month creating and distributing puppet porn. It’s a disturbing but lucrative venture.  I cannot _believe_ he failed to mention it.”

You stare at him for a moment with a blank expression, gauging his sincerity. If it’s true, it’s none of your business until Dirk tells you about it.  “Even if that’s true, I still think that your subject matter for lyrics is awful, and I still refuse to sing it.”

He sits up again and yanks the notebook from your hand, barely concealing a scowl. “Okay, smart guy, what would _you_ consider reasonable subject matter? _Fairies_?”

You grimace and push your hand through your mohawk.  “I would write something that pertains to my personal interests and motifs, yeah, which might include fairies.  And I’m not going to let you make me feel bad about that, after reading what you wrote for your lyrics.”

“Of all the things you could use for inspiration, why do you cling to your stupid childhood interests?” Cronus asks.  “You were paralyzed by your ex-girlfriend.  You could tap into that and use it to find some really raw creative energy. It’s honestly disappointing to watch you ignore that golden opportunity.”

You suppress the urge to echo his groan, which you’ll start to learn if you continue to hang out with him as much as you do.  “I just want to concentrate on the things that make me happy instead of the things that make me sad, which is something I think you should learn from me, instead of complaining about it.”

“You’re _such_ a disappointment,” Cronus says, shaking his head.  “A poor, gay, Mexican cripple living in a slum that’s practically _bursting_ with used heroin syringes has enough material to fill reams of notebooks with deep, profound lyrics, but what do you do?  Watch _Hook_ on repeat.”

“Bi-sexual paraplegic latino,” you correct him.  You should probably write it down for him somewhere. Maybe have it tattooed on the back of his hands.  You’re getting real damn tired of repeating it.  “And I’ve never seen any heroin syringes in our neighborhood, so I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

You don’t know why Cronus seems so surprised, but you know you must have said something you’ll regret when a sly smirk forms on his lips.  “Bi-sexual, huh?” he says, leaning forward. “So you’re finally admitting it?” Of course that’s what he’d get caught up on.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re finally owning up to your colossal crush on Strider, aren’t you?” He wags his eyebrows, and you look away, feeling almost as irritated as you are embarrassed.

“Why do you keep bothering me about that?” you say, but you’re beginning to blush.

“Come on, champ, you can confide in me,” Cronus says, and he leans over the edge of the couch towards you.  “We’re friends, right?  We’re in a committed and decidedly platonic friendship.  I’m here for you.  A shoulder to cry on, if you will.”

“I’m not crying, and I don’t want to,” you say, but you glance back at him.

“You never did say what went on when Strider brought you home,” he presses, raising his eyebrows.  “Don’t even _think_ that I don’t know you’ve been avoiding the subject.  If something happened— _you know_ —I’m not even going to judge you.  I’ll be appropriately happy for your conquest.  I’m not even jealous.  Well, maybe a little bit, but that’s—“

“Okay, no. That’s not it at all,” you say, cutting him off.  You sigh and rub your eyes.  Cronus is right—you have been avoiding the subject, but not for the reasons he thinks you are. Dirk was true to his word and took you to the beach, and it was a blast.  It was the most fun you’ve had since...well, since you can remember. You’ll admit that you might have missed a couple announcements at school thinking about it, and band class is like paradise now that you and Dirk are comfortable enough to talk casually before and after class.  Even though you resent Cronus’s remarks about your feelings for Dirk, you wouldn’t mind admitting to him that he was right.

The real reason you’ve been quiet about it is the dread that’s been growing in your chest since last weekend, a dread that goes back to your old life. If the pressing insecurities you feel about your body weren’t enough, you now know about Dirk’s affections for another guy, which may or may not be resolved.  Worse, you know Dirk’s past romantic interest is now dating Vriska’s older sister.  The thought crushes your elation.  Even if you were good enough to somehow woo Dirk, what collection of problems would that cause you?  Would it be worth it to open old wounds and invite new problems?  Even now, your heart sinks a little bit.

“Can I...tell you something, as in something secret that’s been bothering me?” you ask, looking at Cronus.  His expression changes as he notices the look on your face.

“Did he reject you already?” he asks with surprise.

“No, not yet.  I mean, it’s something else, kind of, but also something that’s related.  You...said that I can confide in you, right, as a friend?”

Cronus looks at you for a second before he sidles up to the edge of the couch and pulls a box of cigarettes from his back pocket.  “Want a smoke to take the edge off?”

You grimace. “You know I don’t smoke.”

“Just thought I’d ask, champ.  No harm in that.” He pops one out and lights it. “So, what’s all this sad secret stuff about, if Strider hasn’t given you the boot yet?”

“Uh, well...he was talking about this guy he used to have a crush on, whose sister is dating his brother—“

“Oh, the infamous Jake English,” Cronus says, nodding.  You glance at him in surprise.

“Do you know about him?”

“Who doesn’t know about him?  Well, okay, maybe a lot of people, but I’ve had the talk with Strider.  I know about his tragic past.”

“The talk?” you repeat with skepticism.

“Yeah. Now, I know you think we’re just two guys who’re always at each other’s throats, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t shot the shit together.  We’ve gotten close, he and I.  We’ve exchanged our deepest personal stories and the juiciest gossip. Let me tell you, the first time _I_ heard about Jake English, I felt disheartened, too.  Rough, tough, charismatic, and impossibly attractive...he’s a hard show to follow. I can understand why you might feel uncertain about your chances, what with your obvious physical limitations, lame interests, and clear confidence issues.  How could you not feel self-conscious about your weird halting speech habits when you juxtapose them against Jake English’s charming vernacular? And, well, let’s be frank, Dirk is _clearly_ interested in a man with a sense of adventure, and your adventuring ability has been compromised. But, as your friend, I’d like to say that you might still have a chance with Dirk, now that English has a girlfriend.  Maybe.”

You gape at him.  That wasn’t _at all_ what you wanted to talk about.  Wow, you feel like absolute shit.  You breathe in a deep gulp of air and say, “Uh, that wasn’t...I mean, that wasn’t exactly what I meant to talk about, but—“

Before you can continue, a series of loud footsteps scramble down the stairs and Eridan whips into view, nose scrunched.  “Are you smoking in the house?” he asks, glaring at Cronus. Cronus shoots you a look and slowly exhales a graceful plume of smoke.  Eridan scowls.  “You shit-eating sack of bile, you’ll make the whole house reek.  If Dad finds out—“

“Hey, bro, as much as I like having you around—really, you’re a _riot_ —we’re having a grown-up talk, so why don’t you mind your own business?” Cronus interrupts.

“Grown-up talk, my ass.  He’s in my grade!” Eridan snaps, pointing at you. 

The way he avoids you, you thought he hadn’t noticed that you were in half of his classes, but now you know that he just purposely ignores you.  How nice.  Your already shitty mood drops a little lower, and you lean back with a sigh. Cronus glances at you and frowns. “My dear brother,” he says, turning back to Eridan, “get lost.”  There’s a severity in his eyes that takes you by surprise.

“Why don’t you go to _his_ house?” Eridan says, crossing his arms defiantly.  “You only hang out with him because you want in his brother’s pants, right?”

“I’m sorry, am I supposed to be taking advice about romance from you?” Cronus says, adopting a faux surprised tone.  “If I remember right, you just recently _destroyed_ your relationship with your long time crush, isn’t that right? Tell me, Eridan, are you really the right person to be pointing fingers at people for their romantic interests?”

Eridan’s face flushes so brightly that it almost turns purple, and without another word, he turns to retreat up the stair.  The look on his face could poison a small animal.  You glance at Cronus.  “Is that an okay thing to say to your brother?  He’s probably not happy about that thing you just mentioned.”

“He started it,” Cronus says with a wave of his hand.  He turns to you.  “Now, what were talking about?”

“Uh...lyrics. We were talking about writing lyrics,” you say, suppressing a sigh.

“Oh! That’s right,” Cronus says. “We were talking about the complete waste your lyrics would be, right?”

“You know, if you think that the less savory parts of my life would make good songs, why don’t you write about them as if you were me, using your amazing artistic skills and your sympathetic insight, as you call it, to understand my point of view and render my experiences into the emotion you think would make good lyrics?” you say.  You know that, if he takes the offer, the lyrics he’ll produce as a result will probably be doubtful and stunted at best, but at least it’ll be better than the stuff he’s writing now.  You try not to grimace as inspiration dawns on his face.

“You know, champ, sometimes you have good ideas,” he says, sitting up straighter. A few different emotions flash across his face, and he furrows his brow.  “Well, we’ll have to be careful not to rewrite the music for _Rent_ , but I think it has potential.”

You actually do groan. “Okay, no, my life is _nothing_ like _Rent_ , at all, not even a little bit.”

“Well, you do have a disease, and you’re gay.”

“It’s an _injury_ , you ignoramus, and I’m _bi-sexual_.”

“Wait...no, _that_ was what we were talking about!” Cronus says, turning to you.  “I was about to give you some excellent dating advice!”

“Actually,” you say, making a show of checking your phone, “it’s almost time for practice, so why don’t we just go to the garage and set up?”

“Is it already?” he asks, checking his own phone.  With a pout and a sigh, he shoves it in his pocket and hauls himself to his feet.  “Okay, champ, let’s go make some beautiful music.”

You follow him to the garage, carefully navigating a makeshift ramp he made for you to help you get up and down the front steps.  As the florescent lights flicker on in the garage, you go to set up your electric guitar and tune it.  Cronus strolls to you with his keytar around his neck, fiddling with the keys.

“Do some warm-ups,” he says.  “Sing something.  I don’t care what.”

He walks away to play with the sound system, and you take your electric guitar off and pick up your acoustic guitar.  You glance at him.  You should play a song you’ve been practicing with the band, but he said you could sing whatever you want.  It’d be easier to appease him, but you don’t feel like it.  You begin to strum the notes to Sixpence None the Richer’s “Kiss Me.”

“Kiss me out of the bearded barley,” you begin to sing, and when Cronus turns towards you with the most hilarious look on his face, you smile.  He eyes you as you continue, smiling to yourself as you sing the whole song.  You always did like it, even though it’s cheesy as hell.  Even you’ll admit that much.  But it’s cute, and your voice is soft and warm when you sing slow and gentle this way, your sharpness so subtle that it disappears into the notes from the guitar. You think of the way the sky turned such a brilliant spectrum of colors as Dirk drove you home from the beach. It’s the first time you sang the song with someone in mind.

As you strum the last few chords, Cronus begins to say, “ _That’s_ the song you think to sing?” but a small spattering of applause interrupts him.  Your face falls as you turn to look at the door to the garage.  Dirk is standing behind three strangers, a girl and two boys. One of the boys looks an awful lot like him.  The other two, the girl and the other boy, are the ones applauding you.

“Good show, good show!” the boy with the dark hair says, smiling broadly. “That was beautiful! I think I might have shed a tear.”

“Me too!” the girl says.  “I can tell this is going to be fun.  I’m really excited!”

“I hope you two don’t mind that I brought some spectators today,” Dirk says as he squeezes past the group at the door.  “This is Dave, my little brother, his girlfriend Jade, and Jake, a really good friend of mine.  That in the corner is Cronus, and the guy with the guitar and the sugary croon is Tavros. Sorry to say that the number he just performed for us unwittingly is not our normal sound, although I’m sort of wondering if it should be now.”

Your face is bright with a blush, and you raise your hand in a half-hearted greeting, mortified that so many people walked in on you while you were singing your dorky crush song.  Cronus is less friendly.  “Oh, yeah, just bring a whole group of people without warning us.  That’s really great of you, Strider.”

“Uh, Cronus? Can you...come here for a second?” you ask, turning to him.  You glance at Dirk as Cronus slinks over.  One of his eyebrows is raised.  You sigh as Cronus stops next to you.

“What is it?” he asks.  You try to will the heat out of your face, but it just burns brighter.

“Is that...the guy?  The one you were talking about?” you ask, signaling to Jake with a glance.  Cronus looks over.

“That’s him,” he says.  You groan and drop your head into your hands.

“Okay, uh...can you sing today?”

“What do you mean, ‘can I sing today’?  You were doing great just now, even if the choice of song was a little terrible.”

“I...just can’t sing in front of this many people, because I’m going to mess up like I’ve been doing.  I wouldn’t mind rapping in front of people, because that’s fun and I like it, even if I’m bad at it, but singing is different.  I can’t sing with, uh...so many people watching me.  Not yet.” Although you're not lying, the more pressing reality is that you don't want to call attention to yourself. You _really_ don't want to call attention to yourself, not when Jake English is dating Aranea, not when he could go and describe you to her in a way she might recognize.

Also, after hearing how apparently awesome and dreamy Jake English is, and having him here, in the flesh, with his admittedly charming smile and handsome face...you're feeling a little less confident than normal.

Cronus groans.  “Are you really doing this right now?  You’re going to chicken out because Strider’s crush showed up?  I thought it was Strider you had the hots for, not his childhood heart throb.”

“No, it’s not like that,” you say, frowning.

“Listen up,” Cronus says, squatting in front of you.  “What happens when someone doesn’t believe in fairies?”

He looks you in the eye, completely serious, and you’re so taken aback by the question that your blush begins to subside.  “It...dies?”

“Right. And how do you keep a fairy from dying?”

You furrow your brow.  “I thought you thought fairies are stupid.”

“Like a person can sit through fifty showings of _Hook_ and not have this crap burned onto their brain,” he says, rolling his eyes.  “Answer the question, champ.”

“You have to clap your hands.”

“That’s right!  So here’s what’s up. You’re like a fairy.”

“Is this another jab at my sexuality, because if it is, I think you should stop, since you’re basically way more not-straight than I am.”

“No! Let me finish,” he says. “Okay, so maybe you’re not a fairy, but your voice is, and every time you don’t believe in yourself, you kill your voice.  So here’s what we’re going to do.  We’re going to perform, and these people are going to clap for you.  Look, they already were when you were singing just now. They think you’re good. Your voice is going to live again with the sound of their clapping hands, okay, champ?”

“No, this is stupid,” you say.  “Fairies aren’t even real.”

“You’d better start clapping,” Dirk says from behind you, and you jump.

“Stop doing that!” Cronus snaps, standing up.  “This is a private conversation.”

Dirk ignores the statement and looks at you.  “Do you really want to be responsible for a fairy genocide? If fairies die when someone doesn’t believe, you’d better start clapping.”

You’re dumbfounded.  “But...they’re not.”

“There goes another one.  Fairy massacre. I didn’t think you had it in you, Tav.”

“No, but really, why are we doing this right now?”

“They’re crying for help.  You have the power to save them, but you keep bringing them down.  Are you going to clap?  Am I going to have to do it for you?” Dirk says. He brings his hands up in front of him as though he’s preparing to clap his hands.  “Cronus, help me out here.”

“Okay, no, this is really, really dumb,” you say with a sigh.  “It doesn’t even matter, because saying something isn’t real isn’t the same as saying you don’t believe in it anyways, so it’s not like I’m killing any hypothetical fairies right now.”

“Obviously you can’t believe in something that’s not real,” Cronus says.

“Yes, you can, because believing in things comes from the heart, so even if you know something isn't real with your head, you can believe in it still.”

Cronus’s face falls into a hard frown.  “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Yeah, it does, kind of, if you believe it does, which requires no logic to operate.”

“No, it makes no sense.  Trust me, champ, you can’t believe in something that isn’t real.  Magic isn’t real, for instance.  You can’t believe in it, or you’ll just be disappointed forever, which will leave you cold and bitter.”

“I mean, if you let it, but maybe there is magic somewhere you can’t see it. Or, even if it doesn’t exist, you can still believe in it with your whole heart, which makes it slightly less fake.”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“I think we’re getting off track here,” Dirk says.  You both glance at him, and Cronus straightens up.

“He’s right,” Cronus says.  “Listen, kid, this fairy thing is a metaphor.  You need to believe in yourself, and getting the support of an appreciating audience will help you do that.”

“Okay, but realistically, that makes no sense, because if my voice is metaphorically dead, like a fairy, because I said I don’t believe in myself, then I won’t be able to perform in front of people well enough to earn their praise, because my voice is dead in the first place.”

“Damn it, Tavros, it’s a metaphor!”

“Even if the metaphor seems stupid, you should believe it with your heart, not your mind,” Dirk says, nodding.

“Are you...making fun of me?” you ask, feeling your stomach drop a notch. This conversation is a train wreck.

“No. Not even a little bit,” he says. 

“Then, is this meant to be ironic, because I think it’s getting a little ridiculous.”

“You know,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder, “the most profound irony, when it’s purest as an artform, has the seed of sincerity at its deepest core. That’s a secret I don’t tell everyone.”  You can see his eyes over his shades. His hand is warm on your shoulder.  To your chagrin, the blush is sneaking back onto your face.   “Now, can we start?” he asks, standing upright.  You simply nod.

“Did you hear that?” Cronus hisses into your ears as Dirk walks back to his friends.

“What?” you ask, feeling incredibly light.

“He liked my metaphor!  I’m a genius.”

You glance at him.  “Okay, but it was actually really bad.”

“No, it wasn’t! Come on, even your idol liked it.”

“Just because I like him doesn’t mean I can’t see through your bullshit.”

“Hey, I’ve been thinking about that metaphor for a long time!”

“Really?”

“Yes, okay? So be a good boy and make some decent music today.  We have people to impress.  Think of it as practice for bigger crowds.”

You groan. “That sounds awful.”

“It sounds exhilarating,” Cronus says as he drops your electric guitar into your lap.

“Are you guys ready?” Dirk asks.  His guests find places on the wall to stand.  His brother has the same impassive expression Dirk normally keeps on his face, but the other two are completely open about their excitement. You swallow down a growing sense of nervousness.  Your body is trying to process a whole host of emotions.  You glance at Jake.  Even if he is incredibly attractive, he's not as tall as you expected him to be. You can see why Dirk would like him, but the warmth of Dirk’s hand lingers on your shoulder. His eyes are gold. Your stomach flips over, and for a moment, your nerves are suffocated beneath a pleasant, tingly warmth. Dirk knocks out a beat on his drumsticks before hitting his drums.

Maybe you’ll do it right this time.  He’s playing the song you like.  You’re almost good at this one.  Maybe you’ll do well.

Just as you’re about to open your mouth to sing, the door to the garage opens, and another person slips inside.  She makes eye contact with you, and her face mirrors the same shock and dismay on your own. You stop playing. Cronus and Dirk follow suit.

“Tavros, what are you doing?” Cronus demands, looking at you with annoyance plastered all over his face.  You drop your eyes, trying to look anywhere but Aranea.  She looks so much like her sister.  You feel a little sick.  Hot needles of panic nettle at your skin. Cronus glances over at her and asks, “Who’s this?”

“Sorry for interrupting!” Jake says, going over to her.  “She’s coming back from class.  I told her it would be fine to come watch as well, with the permission of Dirk, of course!  Is...that not okay?”

“Jake, can I talk to you outside for a moment?” Aranea says, and without waiting for his reply, she grabs onto his shirt and pulls him out the door.

“What’s up?” Dirk asks, appearing next to you.  “You know her, right?”

“Uh...”

From beyond the cracked door, Jake’s voice rises.  “SHE DID WHAT?!  But I thought she was in the slammer because she stole something!  Does he have a restraining order?  Should we leave?” 

Dirk glances at you.  “Um, okay, yeah,” you say with a heavy sigh, “I...went to school with Aranea’s sister.”

“And?”

“And...” You stop talking as Aranea and Jake slip back into the room.  Your eyes meet hers.

“Hi, Tavros. Long time, no see,” she says. You lift your hand in a half-hearted wave.


	5. Undefined

You don’t remember whose idea it was to carpool to the cheap, greasy diner on the south side of town, but you’re now sitting at the end of a booth table, the reluctant center of attention.  On one side of you, Dirk sits next to his brother and Jade, and on the other, Cronus has squeezed in next to Jake and Aranea.  You and Cronus are the only ones who share no connection with the larger group, and you feel yourself gravitating towards him, hoping he can keep you grounded over the course of the conversation you know is about to happen. You’re not sure how much trust you can place in him, though.  He seems to have developed a liking for Aranea.  You’re not surprised; the Serkets are an attractive pair, as brown as you are but with stronger features and a particular sheen to their hair. You just wish he would think with his head instead of his dick every now and then.

Everyone has their face buried in their menus, but you don’t have any money with you. The waitress appears and asks everyone for their orders.  When she looks at you, you wave your hand and say, “I’m not ordering.”

“He’ll have the grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Cronus says.

“Uh, I’m not really hungry...”

“Relax, kid. Is this fish fillet worth any amount of money?”

The waitress shrugs.  “It’s as good as anything else.”

Cronus grimaces and mumbles something under his breath.  “I suppose it’ll do.”

The waitress collects the menus and disappears, leaving you to glance down the table and wait for someone to initiate the conversation.  Aranea clears her throat.

“So, Tavros,” she says with a friendly smile, turning to you, “how have you been?”

You take a deep breath and say, “Uh, okay, I guess, all things considering...I heard that, um, you’re in college now?”

“Yes! This is my first semester,” she replies, relaxing into the conversation.  “It took a lot of hard work to earn the scholarship I needed, but I’m now studying at one of the most prestigious universities in the city.”

“That’s great!” you say, managing a smile.  “You always were smart.  Congratulations.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s wonderful,” Cronus interrupts.  “So what’s the secret and apparently problematic connection between you two?”

“Tactful as always,” Dirk says below his breath.  You glance at him and release a heavy sigh.  You don’t know if you’re relieved or exasperated that the issue is being forced so soon, but you can’t really back out now, can you?

“I went to school with Tavros,” Aranea says, jumping in to help you out. “As did my sister, Vriska. She and Tavros used to play together, until...his accident, which, I’m sad to say, my sister was directly responsible for.”

“Your sis—OH,” Cronus says.  He turns to you with wide eyes, his eyebrows reaching towards his hairline. “This babe’s sister is the girl who pushed you off the roof?”

“Somebody pushed you off a roof?” Jade asks, her mouth dropping open.   “That’s terrible!”

“Absolutely despicable,” Jake agrees with a nod.

“Uh, yes, it is terrible, and it did happen, and it was Vriska who did it,” you say. You wish you could have this conversation with less people, preferably with people who are already somewhat up to date on the information they need to understand it. You hate the way your innards feel.  You wish Cronus hadn’t ordered you food.

“So that’s why you seemed so concerned when I mentioned Aranea,” Dirk says, turning to you.  “Why didn’t you say something?”

All you can do is sigh.  “I just...it’s a topics that I dislike discussing, and...I didn’t want to make it a problem for anyone, because I wanted you to feel comfortable with your friends, and for your friends to feel comfortable with us.” 

“Tavros, if you have any concerns related to your personal safety, they are always, without any shadow of a doubt, more important than my comfort,” Dirk says. “Or anyone else’s.”

Your face burns with embarrassment and a little bit of shame.  “Yeah, I mean, that makes sense, for you to feel that way, so...I’m sorry, for not saying something earlier.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dirk says.  “But if anything else comes up, let me know, okay?  Don’t leave us out of the loop just because you’re worried about being inconvenient or bothersome or some other shit like that. You’re not.”

“Yeah, I agree wholeheartedly with everything Dirk just said,” Cronus says, leaning forward and nodding his head.  “We’re here for you, champ.  We’re always open for deep and personal discussions about your tragic past.”

You glance at him.  “Well, I was actually going to say something to you earlier, but then your brother interrupted, and I didn’t feel like talking about it anymore.”

Cronus’s mouth falls open for a second, but he shuts it quickly and adopts an angry pout. “That little shit. I’m going to throw his fish into the toilet.”

“Uh, I don’t really think you should do that, actually...”

“Let’s get back on track,” Dirk says, interrupting Cronus before he can say anything else. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do about this.”

“It’s a little late to do something about it,” Dave says.  “I mean, we’re all already getting food together in a shitty mom-and-pop diner.  We’re pretty much deep in the shit now.”

“It’s not as though Aranea’s sister is here, though,” Jade points out.

“Exactly,” Dirk says.  He turns his attention to Jake and Aranea.  “I heard something about the slammer?  Is she in jail?”

“No,” Aranea says, shaking her head.  “She’s been out of juvenile detention for about a month now.”

“Really?” Dirk asks with a frown.  “She wasn’t in for very long.”

“Yeah, for an attempted murder, you’d think she’d get more time than that,” Dave says. “What’d she do, escape?”

“Well, juvenile cases don’t work the same way adult cases do,” Aranea says. Her eyes slide to yours. “Besides, she wasn’t sent for Tavros. He never pressed charges.”

Everyone’s eyes turn towards you.  “I said it was an accident,” you admit.

“You said it was an accident?” Cronus repeats with disbelief.

“Why?” Dirk asks.  His expression is blank as always, and you don’t like it.

“I just—I don’t know,” you say, looking away.  “I guess I—“

The waitress appears behind you with your food, and you shut your mouth. She seems to sense the tension radiating from everyone sitting around the table as she passes out the dishes, and she leaves quickly with a small nod.  Nobody touches their food.  They return their attention to you, waiting for you continue.

“Uh, well...” you say.  “I was saying that...I was at the hospital at the time, and it was hard, and I guess that even though Aradia, my friend, tried to tell me that I should go to court, I just was tired, and mostly just wanted to sleep a lot and not think about it. So I never told anyone that Vriska was involved at all, not even my parents.  Just Rufioh, and whoever was there, and I guess you guys, since at this point it doesn’t really matter much.  I actually don’t really know how you know, Aranea, to be honest.”

“Vriska told me,” she says.  She picks up a fork and pushes her spaghetti around her plate.  “The night you went to the hospital, she came home, clearly upset about something.  When I asked her what happened, she told me, and she asked for my help to run away. She thought you were going to go to the police.  I dropped her off at a good friend of mine’s, but...things went downhill from there.” Aranea looks over at you with a hesitant expression.  “You heard about what happened to Aradia and Terezi, didn’t you?”

Your heart stutters.  “Uh, I heard about Aradia, but—Terezi?”

“Nobody could trace the evidence back to Vriska for arson, but Terezi wasn’t convinced. She sought Vriska herself and found her after some time.  They had a stand-off.  You had been moved to a rehabilitation center, so I wasn’t sure if you’d heard.”

“Is she okay?” you ask.  Your head’s feeling a bit light.

“They both came away with some serious injuries, but nothing as serious as yours, depending who you ask.  They both went to juvenile detention for reform.  Terezi has also been released.”

You don’t know what to do with this new information.  You hadn’t heard a thing about it.  Why hadn’t Gamzee told you?  Or Nepeta?  Or any of your other friends?  You look down at the soup Cronus had ordered for you, rolling the information around in your head.  ‘Nothing as serious as yours...depending who you ask’?  What does that mean?

You jump as Cronus scoots your soup a little closer.  “Tomato soup and grilled cheese is the best comfort food there is. Not that _this slop_ counts, but it’s better than nothing.”

You glance over at him.  He has his own fork in his hand, sporting a chunk of fish.  His eyebrows are pulled low, and his lips are drawn together in an expression of concern that looks uncharacteristic on his normally overdramatic face. You think to refuse the offer, but he dumps your spoon into the soup for you.  “Do your people eat this sort of thing?” he asks. “You can dip the grilled cheese into the soup.  It’s good. Try it.”

“I’ve eaten grilled cheese and soup before,” you say, taking the spoon from him. You don’t know if you’ll eat it, but...maybe you will.

“Tavros,” Dirk says.  You glance at him. His face is still blank. “Do you feel safe right now?”

You frown. “Right now?” you say. “I think so.”

“Do you want to leave the band, now that it has some connection to Vriska?”

Your jaw drops open.  “No!” you say. “No, I like being in this band. It’s the best thing that’s happened since at least the accident, if not even before then.”

Dirk’s mouth twitches, but not enough to cue you into his emotions. “That’s a high standard to live up to, but we can work with it,” he says in a way that you _think_ is meant to be a joke.  “But you are sure you feel safe staying with the band? What if Vriska hears about us when we start doing shows?”

“You don’t have to do shows,” Jade suggests.

“That’s the _opposite_ of what we should do,” Cronus says.  “We need to get out there and show her who’s boss.  With the undeniable amount of musical talent we have right now, she’ll be _begging_ for Tavros to forgive her and take her back into his open arms.  All the cats and kittens will be swooning over us on stage, and we’ll be like, ‘We’re just garden variety artists, no need to push.’  There is no better revenge than being incontestably better than someone else in public.”

You look at him.  He winks at you in a way that doesn’t seem as perverted as usual.  “I don’t know about that,” you say, but without conviction. The idea sounds nice. You’ve never been that good at anything before.  You’ve always lacked the self-confidence to be that good at anything.  Vriska was sure to let you know as much almost every day you knew her.  She definitely would never expect that level of success from you.  You press your lips together and look at Dirk, who examines your expression for a fraction of a second.

“He’s right,” he says.  You don’t know if he’s saying that for your sake or because he actually believes it, but he seems confident in every word he’s saying.  “Shit, if this band means that much you, we’re gonna take it to the top.  We’ll land every fuckin’ gig we can find on the internet until every teenage somebody and college drunk knows our sound and sings our songs under their breath as they walk down the sidewalks.  They’ll be falling prostrate on the ground as we pass them, hoping for the chance to kiss the toes of our shoes, asking for our autograph left and fuckin’ right until we develop carpal tunnel and get forced into early retirement by our own inability to play our goddamn instruments.  And when Vriska comes to watch our shows?  We’ll kick her out.”

“We’re going to need to start writing our own music,” Cronus says.  You can tell he’s trying to contain his excitement, but now that Dirk is giving the go ahead for the band to push forward, he’s almost happier than you are.  “Tav and I were talking about lyrics earlier today.  We have some stellar ideas to talk to you about later.”

“Sort of,” you say, throwing Dirk a look to let him know what “we” means in that context. A miniscule smirk finally appears on Dirk’s lips.

“That reminds me, now that we’re on the subject,” he says, and he turns to the two sitting next to him.  “Jade here plays the bass guitar, and Dave can work a sound system.  They would both be great additions to the band, and they promise to not inhibit your artistic expression, Cronus.”

You look to Cronus, waiting expectantly for his answer.  His expression is exactly what you expected it’d be, but Dirk picked the best time to ask.  Cronus’s eyes flash to yours.  “You knew about this, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Uh...maybe.”

“You two have been conspiring behind my back,” he accuses with a small pout.

“Yeah, basically,” Dirk says.  “Listen, working shows would be much easier if we don’t have to do everything ourselves, and a bass guitarist would really help our sound.  Dave can even serve the double function of a grunt.”

“What?” Dave says, turning to Dirk.

“You have to earn your rank among the greats,” Dirk says.

“But why isn’t Jade a grunt?”

“Because she plays an instrument and isn’t genetically related to me.”

“I can be a grunt, too!” Jake says, leaning over the table to look at Cronus. “Leave it to me! I’ll carry any equipment you want! I can handle life on the road!”

“Look at that, we already have groupies,” Dirk says, and his smile gets a little wider. You pretend not to notice. Instead, you look at Cronus.

“We have to do what we can to be as good as you said we’ll be, right?” you say. The move is a bit underhanded, but maybe you can save Dirk from a week’s worth of bickering if you can get him to agree now.  You have a feeling it’ll work.

Cronus inhales deeply, staring you in the eyes.  “ _Fine_ ,” he says with a groan. For the first time since you arrived at the diner, your face breaks into a grin.

“Awesome!” you say, looking at Dirk with excitement.  He smiles and flashes you a thumbs up out of Cronus’s line of sight.

“Eat the food I’m buying for you,” Cronus grumbles, flicking at your spoon. You grab one half of your sandwich for him.

“You know what this band still needs?” Dirk says.  You both glance at him.  “A name.”

“Because, _for some reason_ , Cronus and the Titans wasn’t good enough,” Cronus says, frowning.

“No, it wasn’t.  How about this: ‘Undefined.’  Short, simple, and eloquent.”

Dirk tilts his head just a little bit towards you, and your heart swells. You feel like you’re sharing some secret understanding with Dirk, like he’s sending you a message only you can appreciate. “I like it,” you say. 

“I like it, too!” Jade says.  Her brother quickly agrees with an enthusiastic smile.

Dave shrugs. “It’s okay, but I think you’re ignoring a golden chance to make a lasting impression.  Have you thought of something like, ‘The Obamabombs’?”

“Write that down for when we go solo,” Dirk says.

You look at Cronus.  His eyes flick from Dirk to you.  “Not that my opinion ever _matters_ anymore,” he says, rolling his eyes, “but I _guess_ it’ll do.”


	6. Broken boys

For once, when your brother drops you off at Cronus’s house, Dirk is there before you. You find him sitting alone on the living room couch, doodling over the faces in one of the posh magazines covering the coffee table.

“Yo,” he says as you roll in.  Band practice isn’t scheduled to start for another two hours.  Your confusion must show on your face, because he shrugs and says, “I spent the night here.”

“You spent the night?” you ask.  A sudden and unexpected wave of chagrin slams into you.  He spent the night...with Cronus?  But he doesn’t like Cronus!  Doesn’t he?  And Cronus...knows about your feelings for Dirk, right?  At least he has his suspicions.  But you never really confirmed, did you? Still, he wouldn’t do anything behind your back if he suspects that you like Dirk...right?

“We were working on lyrics,” Dirk says.  Your emotions leave you as quickly as they came, and you’re left with nothing but embarrassment.  You feel like an idiot.  You can’t see his eyes, but you feel as though he’s watching you, so you do your best to wipe the expression off your face.

“Oh, that sounds like...fun,” you say.

“It was Cronus’s idea,” Dirk says, and as if on cue, Cronus walks in from the back patio, putting out a cigarette on the frame of the sliding door.

“What was my idea?” he asks.

“I was explaining to Tavros why I spent the night,” Dirk says. Cronus’s eyes slide to yours, and his mouth turns up into a sly smirk.  Your face falls into a lukewarm glare by force of habit, because whenever his face adopts that expression, he’s about to say something stupid.

“No need to be jealous, Tav my man,” he says, sauntering over to lean on the side of your chair.  “We simply wanted to perfect the lyrics we’re writing for you in private, so as to present them to you in the best condition they can be.  We’re not purposely excluding you or anything like that, if _that’s_ what you’re thinking. We’re just two equally competent, passionate artists collaborating to create the best sound for our band.” He looks down at you with a raised eyebrow, every inch of his face smug with an ulterior message. He knew _exactly_ what you were thinking.  You frown and shove his ass off your chair.

“So, if that’s the case, why didn’t you tell me about it?” you ask.  You make sure not to pout.  Pouting is Cronus’s thing, and he’s not going to pass the infuriating habit onto you.

“Like I said, we’re trying to perfect the lyrics before we show them to you,” Cronus replies.  “Think of it as a gift of sorts, from your two _best friends_ to you.  Isn’t that right, Dirk?”

“Again, it was his idea.  I was all about calling you up and begging you to haul ass over here about ten minutes after I arrived.”

“He wasn’t _even_ ,” Cronus says, rolling his eyes.  Dirk sends you a small smirk, and your lips pull up into a smile before you realize your expression is changing.  Cronus lets himself lean back onto your chair and says, “You can make fun all you want, but you were just as focused as I was.  We were in a good place, Tavros.”  He turns his attention to you and runs his hands over his slicked hair with a dramatic flair.  “We were on fire, the two of us.  If magic were real, it would have been a good word to describe us.  It was the kind of creative ecstasy all artists hope to achieve but only talents such as us can truly obtain.”

You frown, but you choose to ignore the suggestive language and change the subject. “You know you don’t have to always say magic isn’t real when you talk about it, right?  Because, if it makes you that bitter to not believe in magic, you should probably start letting yourself believe again, at least a little bit.”

Cronus’s face falls and he releases an exasperated groan.  “Let’s not even _talk_ about it!  Believing in magic is _so_ third grade. I’m _perfectly happy_ facing reality like a mature individual, even if it is indisputably bleak and horrible.”

“If you say so,” you say with a sigh.

“Oh, _very_ nice, Tav. I don’t invite you to work on music with us, and you bring up _very sensitive_ points of personal disillusionment that I spoke with you about _in confidence_ , even though I _just said_ we were excluding you for your own sake.  I see how this is,” Cronus says.  He pouts down at you, and you barely stifle an echo of his groan.

“No, I wasn’t saying that to be a jerk, or to otherwise get back at you for any perceived wrongs against me.  I was only saying it as your friend, who gets tired of watching you wallow in self-pity all the time, when you have reasonable ways to not do that anymore,” you say.

“Oh, so now you’re _tired of me_ , are you?” Cronus asks, flaring up.

“ _No_ , that’s not what I was saying at all.”

“I’m tired of you,” Dirk says from the couch, and Cronus turns to him with his mouth open in outrage.

“I was saying,” you interrupt before Cronus can say anything, “that it’s okay to be happy, and I would prefer it if you were, even if it means reconciling old beliefs that you think you can never face again, because of the betrayal you felt as a child.”

Cronus turns his attention to you, and his eyes seem to water over with a theatric sort of sadness only he can achieve.  “It’s hard, Tav,” he says.  You sigh and put your arm around him, patting his back gently.  “It was hard growing up, and nobody understands.”

“Yes, I know.  It’s very difficult to be you,” you say.

“See?” Cronus says, directing the remark towards Dirk.  “He gets me.”

“He sure does,” Dirk says.  You battle down the urge to smile for fear of riling Cronus up again.

“Tav, you were our muse last night,” Cronus says, hugging your head to his torso. You look up at him as much as you can with your cheek smashed against his ribs.  “You were the guiding force behind our art.  I’m going to make you proud of the lyrics I wrote for you, champ.”

You can’t think of anything to say, so you blink up at him for a few seconds before finally saying, “Uh, thanks.”  You glance at Dirk.  He’s watching with his chin on his fist, leaning heavily against the armrest, and his mouth twitches up when he sees your eyes flash towards him.

“Speaking of which,” Dirk says, sitting more upright, “I’ve been looking at booking us a show in the next week or two, which means we should start to learn the music we hope to perform pretty damn fast.  Practices should be more frequent, four or even five days a week if possible. For the first few shows we do, we can cover songs to fill up our arsenal, but we should work in our own music as much as possible.  I expect to play nothing but our own music by the end of next month.  Also, Tavros, I want you to look at a map I drew up later today.”

“A map?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh...what kind of map?”

“Don’t worry about it for now.  I’ll show you later.”

Cronus lets go of your head, but he leaves his arm draped across your shoulders. “Dirk here has been _very_ busy figuring out all the boring and dry managerial bullshit that comes with running a band,” he says, looking down at you.  “You’d think there was nothing to it, the way he gets things done.  He’s as cold and efficient as a machine.”

“Wow, really?” you ask, turning to Dirk.

He shrugs. “I don’t know about the machine part, but let’s just say I’m good at pulling strings.”

Cronus leans down and whispers into your ear, “He’s making a pun.  About his porn puppets.”

“Okay, you can get off of me now,” you say, swatting him away.  He pouts but slides off of your chair, instead walking over to join Dirk on the couch.

“Are your _other people_ coming to practice today?” he asks, looking at Dirk.

“As members of the band, I sure as hell hope they come to practice,” Dirk says.

“Ugh, we’re going to have to teach them _everything_ ,” Cronus says with a groan.

“What ‘everything’?  The songs we’re literally writing right now, which nobody knows yet, including ourselves? I can’t even _imagine_ how much _work_ it’s going to be to teach the new kids how to _do stuff_ at the same time we figure it out for ourselves.” Dirk adopts a tone that is clearly meant to mock Cronus’s standard whine, and they exchange a charged look.

“I was talking about the songs we’ve been working on, chief, as if you didn’t _know_ that,” Cronus says with a fake as shit smile that does nothing to conceal the daggers in his eyes.

“Big fucking deal.  I’m sure Jade is a competent enough bassist to pick it up quickly, and Dave’s just in charge of sound.”

“Have you even heard her play, or are you providing her with some charity fame for your brother’s sake?  Or, should I say, _her_ brother’ _s_ sake?”

“Dude, don’t even—“

“Tavros,” Cronus says, and you get the sudden urge to wheel your chair straight into the pool.  You grimace and look in his direction.  “What do _you_ think about the English duo?”

“Uh...”

“Her last name is Harley, asslick,” Dirk says.

“What even _ever_!  They’re siblings, aren’t they?”

“For some people, ‘siblings’ doesn’t mean the same thing as it does for you and your sociopathic brother.”

“So what _does_ it mean, then?”

“Why do you think everything is your business?  Which one of them do you want to fuck this time?”

“Oh, right, because it’s always about sex with me, isn’t it?  Why don’t you make fun of everyone else’s sexualities while you’re at it?  I don’t see you giving your _good friend Tavros_ a hard time.”

“That’s because I’m making fun of your personality, not your sexuality,” Dirk says, but you’re growing steadily more uncomfortable with the conversation, so you interrupt.

“So, uh, since we’re getting new members, why don’t we, um, go to the garage, and prepare, since we don’t want to waste time we could be spending going over important things...”

“Good idea,” Dirk says, hauling himself to his feet and slipping out the door without another word.  Cronus takes his time standing, a sour scowl replacing his restrained frown. He usually forces his expressions in front of people to carefully sculpt the airs he puts on, but you’re slowly beginning to learn how shallow his fake, dramatic fronts really are. Beneath them, there’s almost always that sour scowl.

“Thanks for the save, champ,” he says as he slumps over to you.

“I don’t like it when you do that,” you say.  “I would rather you didn’t make me a part of your arguments, especially with him, and about that particular subject.”

He furrows his brow and looks down at you.  “About what?”  You raise your eyebrows, and his eyes widen with understanding.  “Oh, you mean about your bi-sexuality?  Cool it, champ, he already knows about that.”

Your jaw drops.  “He does?”

“Obviously. How could he not? He overhears just about everything we say when he’s around.  He’s a freak.”

Your jaw stays dropped, and your stomach joins it.  “But...but then, does that mean...do you think he _knows_?”

“Knows what?” You close your mouth and, grimacing, tilt your head as if to drop a hint.  You know he knows, he just needs a reminder.  His eyes narrow as he thinks, then widen with recognition, then relax as that infuriating smirk pulls at his lips. “Know _what_ , champ?  Come on, I have _no idea_ what you could _possibly_ mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I am honestly _so_ clueless.”

“You do!”

“Do what?”

You release a humongous sigh and drop your burning face into your hands. “That...I like him, as more than just a friend, or as a person who I admire platonically...”

“Ha!” Cronus says, pumping his arm back in triumph.  “I knew it!  I was _so onto you_ since day one! You thought you could fool Cronus, but that just goes to show how in-tune I am to the secret desires of others. I am _so_ on my game.”

“Okay, shut up,” you say, lifting your blazing face from your hands enough to glare at him.  “I don’t want him to hear, if it’s true what you said, that he hears everything we say when he’s around.”

Cronus pauses to examine your expression, and he grows slightly more serious. “Don’t you think it’s time you came clean with him?” he asks.

“Came clean?”

“You know...drop some smooth lines, ask him to coffee, engage freely in sexual intercourse, if your body is capable of such things...”

“No, no, I don’t want to do that,” you say, dropping your face into your hands again.   

“Oh, come on, champ, what could possibly be holding you back now?” Cronus asks, kneeling in front of you to eye level.  “Well, besides the _obvious_ things, but if you’re going to let those things hold you back, you’ll never get laid. Again, if that’s a thing that’s possible for...quadriplegics?”

“How do you even know that word, if you can’t remember ‘paraplegic’?” you ask, peeking between your fingers.

“I tried to do some research, but it was boring and complicated, so I gave up,” he says with a small shrug.  You wish you could control your legs just long enough to give him a swift kick to the jaw.

“I can’t believe you.”

“I know, I know, I’m an absolute failure and I should just go kill myself,” he says with a small, controlled sigh.

You drop your hands and glare at him.  Not your usual half-hearted glare, but a true, solid glare.  He notices.  “I’m going to go help Dirk,” you say, putting your hands on your wheels.  He grabs them before you can turn your chair around.

“Okay, okay, _okay,_ ” he says, holding you in place.  You could probably shake him off if you wanted to.  He has some impressive muscles, but your grip is probably stronger than his.  But you wait.  “I’ll admit, that wasn’t a very politically correct statement, and I’m sorry for everything it implied.  I’m also sorry that I can’t get what you are right.  _But_ I am being 100% sincere about my opinion that you should come clean to Dirk.  I have been watching you pine for too long, and it is _exhausting_.  What are you even _waiting_ for?”

“I’m waiting for...uh,” you say, but you don’t have an answer.  The fact is, you’ve never actually considered asking Dirk out.  You like him, but that realization never came with any illusions of some ideal romantic future featuring the two of you.  He’s _Dirk_.  He’s cool.  He has a cool personality, cool fashion, cool hobbies, and cool talents. He’s so far out of your league, you’re not even playing the same game.  Can you even imagine a reality in which it’d be possible for you to date Dirk Strider?

You shake your head.  “I’m just...not going to do it, probably.”

“What do you mean, you’re not going to do it?” Cronus demands.  “You mean _ever_?”

“Uh, yes. Probably.”

He stares you down, and you look away. 

“Champ, remember how I’m your own personal crying shoulder?” Cronus asks.

“That isn’t even a thing.  Nobody says that.”

“You’re going to give up before you even try.  Is that what you’re saying?”

You glance at him.  He’s still staring at you.  For some reason, he seems upset.  He has that severity around his eyes that you’ve only seen a few times.  You don’t know where he gets that from, but you don’t want it directed at you.  “I don’t...have the confidence for that sort of thing.  Confidence is a thing that I don’t have much of.”

“I gathered as much, sport,” Cronus says.  He sighs and leans back on his haunches.  “Look, I know you think all sorts of things about me that you don’t say to my face—don’t _even_ pretend like you don’t, because everyone does—I’m cool with it, champ, I really am, so you don’t need to spare my feelings—but I _try_. No one will ever say Cronus Ampora didn’t try when he found someone attractive.  And, yes, I am rejected on a regular basis, and it stings, sometimes enough to keep me up at night, sobbing silently into my pillow, alone, _but_ I don’t give up. Now, you’re always telling me about the things I should learn from you.  ‘Be happy, Cronus.’  ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’  ‘Believe in magic if it makes you feel better.’ ‘Think of happy thoughts!’ It’s my turn, friend. I may be sad, but I’m confident. And that’s what you should learn from me.”

You examine his face for a few seconds, your lips pressed tightly together. “So,” you finally say, “what you mean is I should just be confident.”

“Yeah! See, that’s not so hard, is it!” Cronus says, beaming.  You’re sure he’s more pleased about the perceived success of his pep talk than anything you might have gained from it.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you say.  You can almost see his satisfaction shatter.

“What do you want me to tell you, champ?  You either do it or you don’t.”

“Okay, but...”  You exhale heavily through your nose.  “Okay, remember that time I was going to talk to you about Aranea, which was when you thought I was actually asking about Jake English, and you said all sorts of things, like about how I falter when I talk, and how I can’t go on adventures because I’m...because of my injury, and how you say things all the time about me being poor and latino and a cripple from a bad neighborhood?” You were going to stop there to let Cronus think about what you’re saying, but now that you’re talking, you can’t stop.  The words fall out of your mouth in long, rambling phrases, and you only pause long enough to inhale. “I just, with confidence, I can’t not think about those things, and how there are a lot of better people than me, and how I don’t have interesting hobbies or do interesting things, which is something I knew even before my accident, when Vriska was pushing me around all the time and calling me names and making fun of me.  Even when I had a lot of friends and did a lot of things, I was never cool, and I always liked stupid things, and I was never smart either, really, so I think I was probably easy to trick into believing and doing things that I didn’t actually think were a good idea, and even when I tried really hard at stuff, it just took me a long, long time to get things right sometimes, which was a thing I was always mostly okay with because I always felt like it’s okay to go slow and value the things that aren’t associated with triumphing over others or amassing material wealth or status and stuff like that, which I know also sounds lame to a lot of people, even though—”

“Whoa, okay, champ, you need to slow down,” Cronus says.  He grabs one of the thin blankets off the couch and leans forward to press it against your cheek, and you’re stunned to find that your eyes are wet.

“Oh, uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to...say those things that way,” you say, pushing his hands away to wipe your face yourself.

Cronus watches you for a moment, and you get the impression that he doesn’t know how to react.  Has anyone ever actually taken him on his offer to listen to their problems?  You doubt it, because you know how bad he is at listening.  But he’s not fucking everything up yet.  He seems to be genuinely thinking of the things you said.  He purses his lips.  “Listen, kid,” he says, placing his hand gently on your knee. You grimace but ignore it. “After hearing all those heartfelt things you just said about yourself, I’m convinced that you have a decent chance with Dirk.”

“You...do?”

“I do! See, guys like Dirk, they’re suckers for kids like you with sad, pitiful emotions and horrible pasts. If you cried like that in front of him, he’d be between your knees in a second, giving you a supportive, sympathetic hand job to cheer you up.  Maybe even a blowjob, if you’re lucky.  You should stop trying to be positive all the time and give into your inner weakness.”

You let your head fall back and groan.  “Okay, no, I just can’t even believe you would say that right now.”

“What? It’s true!  I bet Dirk gets it up for broken boys in need of a hero.”

Broken boys?  A hollow feeling swells in your chest.  “Jake English isn’t broken,” you say. 

The expression falls off Cronus’s face as he processes the statement. “Well...maybe not...okay, so he’s actually the most perfect, desirable man I’ve met, your own brother notwithstanding.”

“My brother has problems, too, not unlike mine, so he’s not perfect,” you say. You’re sinking deeper, but this time, at least Cronus isn’t pretending that you’re wrong.  He’s sinking, too, for your sake.  You both sit in silence for a moment.

“Oh, come on, champ,” Cronus finally says, forcing a smile.  “You’re always prattling on about happy thoughts! There must be a proverbial silver lining to this.  So maybe Dirk hasn’t been attracted to someone like you before, and has notably been attracted to a person who can generally be described as carefree and ideal, but that doesn’t mean he _won’t_ be into you.  Maybe, in his case, he numbers himself among the freaks and rejects, and he himself is seeking someone to fix him.  Maybe you’re both broken.  Maybe you should be the one to take his hand and lead him into a more hopeful future.”

He looks at you with new hope in his eyes, waiting for your response.  “So, you mean we should be broken together?”

“Yeah! That’s the ticket, friend. What you should do is push down all your pathetic and unattractive self-pity, gather your happy thoughts, and get him to open up to you about all his life disappointments. Offer him a shoulder to cry on, if you will.”

Well, the last statement is more than enough to convince you to throw that plan out without another thought.  You sigh and push your chair away.  “Maybe we should just go get ready for practice,” you say.

“Wait!” Cronus says, grabbing onto your chair again.  He looks you in the eyes.  “Tavros.  Tonight Dirk is going to ask you to go to his house so you can look at that map he was talking about.  It would be a perfect time to drop some lines, if you catch my drift.”

“And act pitiful, so that he might also act pitiful, and we can pity each other until we have sex, which is a thing you don’t even think I can do?”

You don’t know if you look severe or dejected, but you can take a guess. Cronus exhales quickly through his nose, staring you in the eyes.  “Promise me you’ll at least do _something_ , champ.  I’m going to sit and wait at your house until you come home, and I want to hear _something_.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the door opens before you can form a response. “Jesus, what is taking you two so long?” Dirk asks, but he pauses when he gets a good look at the two of you, hand still on the doorknob.  He stays motionless for a few seconds.  You can imagine his eyes moving between you and Cronus behind his shades, but you can’t see beyond the dark lenses.  “What’s up?” he finally asks.

“We were just having a friendly heart-to-heart, chief,” Cronus says, standing up and raising his hands.  You can’t read the expression on Dirk’s face.  He takes a step into the room.

“Tavros, why were you crying?” he asks.  Your innards all seize at once.

“Uh,” you say, touching your face.  Are your eyes red? You glance at Cronus and consider lying for a split second.  But why lie when the truth is easier?  “I was talking with Cronus, mostly about my past and my insecurities, which made me sad.”

“Really?” he asks.

“Um, yes?”

Dirk glances at Cronus, tilting his head just a twitch in Cronus’s direction, and Cronus raises his hands a little higher.  He keeps his face so carefully impassive that he could almost pass as a mannequin.  “Okay,” he finally says.  “Dave and Jade are here. We should start practice. If you’re up for it.” The last comment is for you.

“Yes, of course, I’m definitely up for it,” you say immediately, rolling forward a bit to emphasize your words.  Dirk nods and stands aside, waiting for you to pass.  You glance at Cronus before sliding down the ramp and towards the garage.  You try to ignore the conversation taking place in sharp whispers behind you.

When you roll into the garage, Dave is fiddling with the sound equipment and jabbering quietly to himself, and Jade is swaying around with her bass guitar hanging from her neck.  She sends you a bright smile as you enter.  “Hey, Tavros! How are you?”

Her cheerful voice and pleasant expression are infectious, and you return her smile. “Hi, I’m okay. How are you?”

“Excited to get started!” she says with a laugh.  “I’ve been practicing the songs Dirk gave me all week. I hope I can keep up!”

“I think you’ll be okay, since we usually go pretty slow anyways.  Cronus likes to get mad at me about singing,” you say.

“I don’t _like_ to get mad at you,” Cronus says as he and Dirk follow you inside.  He’s in a sour mood again, but he puts on a quick, strained smile for Jade and Dave.  “Hello, friends, and welcome to the band.”  His smile fades as he notices some new equipment near the wall of the garage. “What are those turn tables doing here?” he asks, turning to Dirk.

“Just in case,” Dirk says with a shrug.  “Don’t worry about it, ‘chief,’ I won’t touch them.  Dave is in charge of turn tables, should we decide we need them.”

“In case the beats get sick, the doctor is in,” Dave says, lifting a hand.

“Is he going to be _rapping_ , too?” Cronus asks.

“We already have two fly rappers,” Dirk says, gesturing to you.  “Unless you think we need three.”

“It can’t hurt to have at least three rappers ready to bust out some rhymes,” Dave says. “Four would be best. Jade could probably rap if she had to.”

“Yeah!” Jade says with an enthusiastic grin.

“Can Jade sing?” Cronus asks, looking at Jade.

“I can try!” she replies.  “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do my best.”

Her cheerful smile stays in place as Cronus sizes her up, and you start smiling as well. You like her.  You’re glad that Dirk asked her to be in the band.

“Okay, well, we’ll see where you factor in,” Cronus says.  He looks between Dave and Jade, crossing his arms. “This is the way things are: Tavros is our main vocalist, _unless_ he can’t get his act together before we start doing shows, in which case I’m taking over.  Dirk is on drums and raps sometimes, which I _guess_ is going to be something we work into our own music.  New guy, if you want to rap, you’ll have to work it out with him. I’m on the keytar, or my synth if needed, and I’m also our main stage presence.  New girl, if you want to help add energy to our shows, feel free, but don’t trip me up or fight me for attention.  I want to hear your vocals before we decide whether or not to give you a mic.  How competent are you on that thing?”

“Pretty competent!” she says without missing a beat.

“I didn’t know we were going to get drilled before practice,” Dave comments. “Is this standard? Should we go run laps around the garage and hop through ratty tires before we start?”

“Okay, as a rule, nobody with the last name ‘Strider’ is allowed to run their mouths,” Cronus says.

“Let’s just get started,” Dirk says.

Jade turns out to be a fairly decent vocalist, and her brighter, more feminine tone contrasts nicely with Cronus’s deeper, richer voice.  When they both sing backup vocals to you, they cushion your edged, sometimes wavering voice, so that the sharp jumps you sometimes make seem purposeful and the jarring climb into your vocalizations is less pronounced.  Dave, even without a mic, shouts out short phrases throughout the songs, despite several protestations from Cronus.  He gets especially agitated when Dirk is rapping, much the way you do, but he doesn’t hesitate to join in and release his energy.  You’ve been starting to learn how to use Dirk’s voice to vitalize your music instead of letting it distract you, and hearing Dave participate so readily, ignoring Cronus’s commands that he stop, inspires you.  Jade bounces around as she plays her bass, grinning and laughing.  She comes over to you sometimes and plays alongside you, and you absorb her exuberance.  She makes it fun.  Jade and Dave make the band fun.

Your concerns seem to dissolve.  You stop thinking about what parts of you are lame and what parts aren’t. You feel full of music and the people who are playing it.  By the end of practice, you’re breathless but very, very happy.


	7. Happy thoughts

Cronus was right when he said that Dirk would invite you over after practice. Dave and Jade had made plans to meet up with some other friends, so you and Dirk are alone again. This time, when he offers you something to drink, he’s able to locate some orange juice beneath the swords in the fridge.  You stifle a laugh as he digs through the firecrackers in the sink for a glass. You just don’t get it. Sitting in his living room for the second time reinforces just how bizarre everything seemed to be the first, but this time, all of it is somehow funny.  Who puts firecrackers in the sink?

Dirk doesn’t waste time before leading you to his room.  His workbench has been cleared of most of the mechanical debris that covered it before, and over it is draped a number of maps, including your current town, your past town, and a huge map of the nearby city, all marked up with different colored markers.  He leads you over and gets down to business.

“I’ve been doing some research,” he says, turning towards you and leaning against the workbench. “And if this sounds creepy, let me just apologize ahead of time.”

“Okay?” you say.  Your interest has been piqued.

“These maps show our current range in terms of gigs we might realistically book at this point in our musical career.  Obviously we’re not going to be traveling across the country in a shitty RV and selling band shirts out of the back of Cronus’s hotrod quite yet, so we want to stay within a hundred miles or so for now.  I’ve marked up some possible venues. I haven’t visited them all yet, but from what I’ve found, the ones in blue appear to be at least somewhat accessible.  The purple ones might pose some problems.  So, I was thinking about ways to address these assholes’ lack of disability awareness so you can go wherever the hell you wanna go.  I can easily build a compact ramp that we can stretch up any flights of stairs you might need to scale, but I’m thinking a lift of some sort might be a good idea, too, in case some of the backstage entrances in the city prove to be stupid.  In any case, I’d need to get some measurements on your wheelchair, if you’re okay with all of that.  We can stick to accessible venues if you aren’t, though.  That’s cool, too.”

He watches you for your reaction, and you suppress a laugh.  “I don’t see how that’s creepy at all,” you say. “I think that’s really nice of you to go through this much work on my behalf, and I’m totally down with anything you think would be a good idea.  If you need measurements, that’s okay.  But don’t spend a lot of money or hard work on something if it gets to be a problem.”

He shrugs and says, “Nah, this won’t be a problem for me at all.  I’m all about tackling this project with all the gusto a robotics expert can muster over a ramp and a lift.  And that wasn’t really the creepy part.” He points at one of the maps, your old town, which has been partially shaded over with red.  “Jake and I have been putting this together with Aranea,” he says.  Your smile drops more from surprise than anything else, but you can feel a swell of disquiet erupt in your chest.  Dirk and Jake and Aranea?  That’s a combination you don’t like for a lot of reasons, but you try not to let it show on your face. He continues, “These are the areas Aranea knows Vriska tends to frequent.  She’s apparently been living with Aranea’s friend, Meenah, so she’s not in the neighborhood where you grew up, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t turn up there.  I’ve marked it off just in case.  The thing is, Aranea isn’t really around Vriska much anymore, since she’s in college. We’ve tried asking Meenah about Vriska’s patterns of movement, but she’s only with her part of the time. It turns out that Vriska is still hanging out with Terezi, and where they go when they’re together is a mystery to the rest of us.  So, I thought I’d ask you if there were any places you felt we should mark down.”

“Uh...” you say.  You’re speechless for a lot of reasons.  Dirk learned all this stuff about you since your talk about Vriska?  That’s...impressive, and, yeah, a little creepy, but not in a way that actually creeps you out.  You just don’t know if it’s necessary.  You do want to avoid Vriska, but maybe not _this_ much.  Do you really need to map out all her usual hangouts? This is more about the details of her life than you care to know.  In fact, seeing all the red covering your old town makes her and your past with her feel more real than they have in couple months, and you’re a little uncomfortable about it.

But then, it’s not as though Dirk would know that, right?  You guess that, if you heard someone tell a story like yours about someone like Vriska, you’d probably assume they’d want to avoid her at all costs.  Dirk is obviously pretty concerned, and you are grateful about that.  Dirk is also obviously over-analytical, and you guess that’s fine, too.  If this is his way of addressing the issue, you won’t make a big fuss about it.

But you still don’t really know what to say.

“I probably should have told you about this earlier,” Dirk says, interrupting your thoughts.  You glance over at him, but his face is as stoic as ever.  He watches you for a moment, and you slowly realize that he’s struggling to find words as well.  You try and probably fail to hide your surprise.  He sighs and says, “I didn’t really want to bother you with all of this, since you don’t like to talk about it.  And for good reason, obviously, since it’s a sensitive topic. I’m definitely not trying to undermine your right to personal information or secrecy.  I know it must look like I’m digging my fingers through all the shit you don’t want me to know about, and I am sorry about that. I just thought it’d be a good idea to have a clear visualization of the places we can play where you won’t have to feel on edge about getting up on stage.  At least until you get comfortable.  Actually, now that I’m talking to you about it, it sounds kind of fussy.  I promise I’m not singling you out because—Christ, you know what?  This was actually really dumb.  Here, let’s just put all this away and pretend it never happened.”

“Uh, wait,” you say as he turns around to gather up the maps.  You grab onto his wrist and look up at him, thinking as quickly as you can to come up with something to say.  “I, uh, don’t know what Vriska’s doing now, but I think, if she’s hanging out with Terezi, I might know about some places they might go, and—I was only thinking, just then, about why she would be hanging out with Terezi at all, and wondering if I still have Terezi’s contact information, which I doubt I do, but if not, I think maybe Gamzee might know, so maybe he could ask?”

Dirk looks at you, and you think for a second that you can actually see his relief. It’s probably just your imagination, though.  He lets go of the map in his hand.  “Okay, cool,” he says.  “If we can get into contact with Terezi, then we’d definitely know what Vriska’s up to. Unless...”  He falls silent for a second to think, during which you become suddenly very aware of your hand on his wrist.  You release it with more haste than you mean to. You hope he didn’t notice. He tilts his head towards you and asks, “Would talking to Terezi be a bad idea, if she’s with Vriska as much as Meenah says she is?”

“Uh...” you say, and you take a second to think.  You shake your head.  “I don’t think it’d be a bad idea.  Terezi is really smart, and I think she would know better than to do anything that would deliberately sabotage us, especially if we make it clear that having Vriska around is not something we would want.”

“Are you okay with talking to your friend about all this?” Dirk asks.

“Who, Gamzee?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be fine,” you say.  “I’ve already told him all about our band and how much fun it is. I think he’d understand. But I don’t know if he still talks to Terezi at all, since she was in juvie.  If not, that won’t work anyways.”

“Yeah,” Dirk says with a nod.  He pauses for a second and says, “If you want me to deal with all this, I can. You know, if it makes you uncomfortable.  I can try to talk to Terezi about it.”

“You mean, you want me to get the contact information from Gamzee and then give it to you?” I ask.

“Only if you want.  It’s up to you. It’s all up to you, really. We can trash the project if you don’t think it’s necessary.”

“I think I can do it,” you say with a reassuring smile.  “If you’ve done this much anyway, I can help with the rest of it. It sounds like it makes you feel better about planning everything if you know this sort of stuff.”

For a microsecond, he seems thrown off, and an uncharacteristic twitch pulls his brow down in what appears to be confusion.  He recovers quickly, though, and a miniscule smile tugs at the corner of his lips.  “I’m supposed to be making _you_ feel better about all of this,” he says.

“Yeah, and you definitely are, in ways that increase my confidence in the matter and my general sense of security,” you say.  More for his sake than yours, actually, and it feels a bit strange to be on this end of the conversation.  Are you encouraging him, or is it the other way around? You can’t really tell anymore.

“Great,” he says, and with a little more enthusiasm, “Great, that settles that. I’ve already got my eye on a venue for the weekend after next.  We should be good to go.  I talked to them, and they said they were accessible, so we don’t need to rush on that ramp yet.  I’d better tell Cronus so he can flip his shit about whatever he intends to flip his shit about before our first gig.”

Dirk turns to lean on the workbench again and pulls out his phone.  His fingers fly across the keypad faster than you thought possible, and he slips it back into his pocket.

“You know what he’s been planning?” he says as soon as the phone is out of sight. You shake your head. A tiny smirk appears on his mouth and he says, “I bet he wants it to be a surprise.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“I bet he’d be mad if I told you.”  His smirk widens a bit, as though the thought of Cronus getting mad was amusing in wicked ways.

“You can’t bring it up and not tell me now,” you press, because you’re pretty sure he’s going to tell you anyway.

“You’re right.  I’m caught in a clear ethical dilemma, and no one can possibly blame me now for filling you in on this secret thing that Cronus wants to do.”  His smirk is now big enough to be widely recognizable as a smirk by the general public.  “He’s going to take us all shopping for new threads for the band. I think he’s going to take us after practice one of these days.”

“He is?” you ask.  You’re excited, but you also have mixed feelings.  Clothes shopping with the band sounds like a lot of fun, especially now that you know Jade and Dave.  You can imagine what sort of hilarity might ensue when you all attempt to coordinate outfits.  But you know what Cronus’s taste in clothing is like, and you can’t afford it. Cronus knows that, which means that he probably plans on covering your purchase.  You’re sure he’d be willing to buy you anything if it’d help his image on stage.  On one hand, you feel guilty when he pays for things for you, and on the other, he’s a vain idiot who’s digging his own hole, and if he wants to buy you new clothes for his own selfish purposes, you can’t be held responsible for that. And you’d probably look sick in some new threads.  You rather like the thought.

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Dirk says in a way that suggests he wants you to tell him he told you.  You probably won’t, though.  If Dirk is right, Cronus probably wants you to act surprised and appreciative in ways that increases his sense of self-importance.  In fact, Dirk probably knows that’s exactly what Cronus wants, which is why he spoiled the secret in the first place.  You don’t mind acting surprised and appreciative, though.  It makes Cronus happy, and your life is easier when Cronus is happy.

“What kind of look do you think he’ll want us to have?” you ask.

“Who knows?  If he doesn’t try to dress us up in leather-clad greasers outfits that were popular before our parents were in high school, he’ll probably find a look that’d only be appropriate in a Lady Gaga music video.”

“You think so?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah. He’ll probably try to sculpt some weird experimental image that’ll brand our band’s name onto our audience’s brains until death.  They’ll forget what we sound like, but they’ll never forget our look.  He’ll most likely have us paint our faces and do crazy shit with our hair.  I can already tell that you’re going to have a British punk fan hawk.  I could probably get some height on your hair with the products I use...”

To your surprise, he reaches over and draws his fingers through your hair, examining the length of your short mohawk.  Your heart stutters for a beat and begins to pound harder, and your breath shortens considerably.  You try to act cool, but you feel a traitorous heat crawling up your neck. Your condition worsens as he says, “Holy shit, you have some silky locks.  Damn, you could weave bed sheets fit for royalty out of hair like this.  What do you wash your hair with, unicorn tears?”

“Uh...thanks? I just...use conditioner...” you say. You feel so breathless. His fingers slide back, and his thumb smoothes over the fuzz along the edge of your mohawk.  “I, uh, need to shave that, I guess...”

“Nah, you could probably go for another couple of days.  I don’t think your hair is long enough to go full punk-rock fan hawk, though, sad to say,” he says, and to your disappointment, his hand falls from your head.  You sneak a glance at his face.  He’s wearing a faux contemplative expression, and the heat in your body rises as you realize that he’s deliberately teasing you.  “I could probably do some crazy shit with your hair, though,” he says. “Not to brag, but I have some mad skills when it comes to styling hair.”

“Yeah, I can—I can totally believe that, since your hair always looks so awesome,” you say.  You’re having a hell of a time maintaining enough composure to continue this conversation, but you really want to return his playful banter.  Is this...are you trying to flirt?  Is _he_? Fuck, you are so confused.

He flashes you a smile.  “Thanks. That actually means a lot to me, no joke.  I spend like two hours in the bathroom every morning.”

“You do?” you ask.

“Maybe not two whole hours, but long enough.”

“Well, it, uh...it pays off, because you, um, always look...really good.” Fuck.  You’re out of your element.  Would this...be a good time to tell him you like him? Cronus said that you should say something to him today.  You just need to have enough confidence to say _something_. So...what do you say? Do you...tell him you’re attracted to him?  Or ask him to do something together with you?  Like go out for some coffee?  Or...he seemed to enjoy himself when you went to the beach, so maybe you could ask him if he wants to do that again?  But you already did that once with him, just the two of you, and that wasn’t a date. Right?  Wasn’t it?  It...wasn’t a date, right?

Holy fuck, was that a _date_? No?  Was he flirting with you then, too? Shit.  Fuck.  What is even happening?

“Hey, I was thinking...” he says, leaning back casually onto the workbench. His shirt stretches over his torso.  Your eyes dip down and flash back up to his face, and you just can’t even think anymore. Your chance to say something is going to crash and burn, and you’re too muddled to do a damn thing about it. He continues, “We never did play Pokémon.”

Pokémon. Yeah, you can do that. You can manage Pokémon. “Oh, yeah, you’re totally right about that...I guess we both forgot.”

“How’s that sound?  Are you in the mood to kick my ass today?”  He smiles down at you, and you feel your system returning to normal.  You’re back in your element.

“Only if you’re in the mood to get your ass kicked,” you say, finally relaxing. His smile widens a bit.

“Cool. Let me get my cards. They’re in Dave’s room. I let him have them when he decided they were cool, but that phase passed pretty quickly for him.”

Dirk pushes himself off the workbench and strolls from the room, leaving you alone long enough to gather your bearings.  You can hear him digging around Dave’s room for the cards. They must be buried underneath a ton of other stuff.  You sigh and push your hair back.  You can still feel the gentle sensation of his fingers in your hair.

Did you botch your chance?  You still don’t know what just happened.  You let yourself get too frazzled.  Not that you’re surprised...you knew it wasn’t going to work out. You told Cronus as much. But he said he would be at your house, waiting to hear from you about today.  You’re sort of disappointed that you’ll have nothing to tell him. He seemed so adamant...

But maybe you’ll have another chance?  Maybe something will come up?  Cronus said that...if you can get Dirk to open up about his insecurities and regrets, maybe you’ll be able to comfort him in a way that would be easily construed as romantic.  Maybe...that’d work?

But how the hell would that be a thing when the two of you are going to be playing Pokémon?  Yeah, no, you fucked up.

“Hey, check this out,” Dirk says, returning with a box under each arm. He sets them on the floor. One is full of Pokémon cards, and the other...is full of photos?  You wheel over as he flashes from the room and back with a card table. He sets it up and puts each of the boxes on it.

“What are these?” you ask, pointing at the photos.

“The lil’ guy has a thing for photography,” Dirk says.  He pauses for a moment and says, “I guess I should probably stop calling him the lil’ guy, since he’s as almost as old as you are. Not so lil’ anymore. Anyway, he likes to take selfies. He has some other pictures in here that are pretty good, but you need to take a look at these selfies. Just look at this shit.”

He digs through the box and extracts a number of the photos for you.  He’s in a few of them, sometimes purposefully, sometimes as an addition Dave clearly wasn’t expecting.  In every picture, Dave always has the characteristic deadpan expression he shares with Dirk, but somehow, the photos still seem to have a carefully crafted goofiness about them.  It’s a subtle goofiness, but it’s there.  You feel your smile grow as you leaf through the photos, examining each one and searching for the element that lends them their silliness.  You can’t find it, but you enjoy it nonetheless.

“Here, this one’s my favorite,” Dirk says.  Both he and Dave are in the photo he hands you. They’re younger than they are now by a couple of years.  Dave seems to be around thirteen, and Dirk, maybe in early high school?  Dirk has his arm around Dave, and Dave’s carefully maintained facade has broken.  His mouth is open and his brow pulled down in an expression of irritation. Dirk’s face is open in a wide grin.  You stare at it for a moment, taking it in.  It’s an object of wonder, the two Striders captured in a disarming moment. Your smile softens. You used to share moments like this with your brother all the time, before he had to work as often as he does now, but you never took any photos.

“You seem like a good brother,” you say, glancing up at Dirk.  He’s watching you with a smile that probably mirrors your own.  You wonder if he’s feeling brotherly affection, too.

“I try,” he says with a slight shrug.  You look down at the photo and back up.  You try to imagine him grinning like that now.

“You look good when you smile,” you say.  “You should smile more often.”  You don’t mean anything flirtatious by it, and you don’t feel weird saying it, either.  You’re just being sincere.

He shrugs again.  “I smile all the time. I’m smiling right now.” He is, but...it’s not the same kind of smile.  Maybe the grin in the picture is a special one.  Maybe it’s only reserved for special people in very special moments. You guess you’re okay with that being the case.  You want to see it, though.

You look at the photo for a bit longer.  A question that’s been on your mind for a while resurfaces.  “Um, if it’s okay to ask, why don’t you and Dave go to the same school?”

Dirk’s smile fades.  “I transferred myself as soon as I could drive,” he says.  “We started to fight when we got to be in the same building. It’s tough, being a guardian and a peer at the same time.  It was tough for Dave, too.  He’s just out there trying to be his own person, and I was always around, taking care of him at home and chilling at the same school.  I was overshadowing him, and he needed space, so I gave it to him.”

You pause. Is this...a chance to get him to open up?  A chance to comfort him romantically?  But...you don’t feel romantic.  This isn’t the same feeling you got when he had his fingers in your hair.  You examine his face for a moment and sigh. “Transferring schools, when you have friends and family at another place...is a hard thing to do,” you say. And you’re not saying it just as a gesture of sympathy.  You really mean it, because you know it’s true.

“Yeah, it sucked,” Dirk says, but he shrugs.  “But what can we do about it?  Sometimes it needs to happen.”

“Yeah,” you say.  You glance at him. You want him to smile again, like he was before.  “But, um...if we hadn’t both transferred, for the reasons that we both had to do so, we wouldn’t be in a sweet band right now, and we definitely wouldn’t be preparing to play a sick game of Pokémon in your bedroom.”

That did it.  His lips turn up in that microscopic smirk, the playful kind that includes a slight arch in his eyebrow.  “You have your eye on the money, don’t you?  How long have you been waiting to decimate me?”

“Longer than you know,” you say, flashing him your own smirk.  He clears the photos off the table and you both get set up to play.

Dirk takes you home much later that night.  You never did say anything about your feelings for him.  After you roasted him at Pokémon, he made you both pizza rolls and popped in Grand Theft Auto.  When Dave came home, he joined you.  It was your first time hanging out with Dave for a long period of time, but after seeing his selfies, you felt comfortable around him.  You like him. You like all of the people you’ve been meeting so much.  You didn’t even realize it was getting late until Dave pointed out the time.

The lights in your house are dark when Dirk pulls up, but Cronus’s car is still parked next to Rufioh’s.  You frown. Dirk asks if you need anything, but you tell him that you’ll be fine.  He drives away as you turn on the lights in the living room. Cronus isn’t there, but Rufioh’s door is closed.  Your gut sinks. He can’t have done what you think he did.  Maybe he’s in the bathroom...? But the bathroom door is open. You can’t believe it. Cronus must be sleeping with your brother.

You suppress a groan and wheel yourself to your room.  But when you flick on the light, you hear a noise of protest from inside.  You quickly flick it off.

“Damn, champ, could you think of a nicer way to wake a friend up?” Cronus groans. You hear him shift on your bed.

“What are you doing?” you ask.  You feel a swell of relief that’s closely followed by irritation.  Did he seriously just fall asleep on your bed?

“I’m waiting for you to get home, exactly how I said I would,” he says. “And it took you long enough!”

Your irritation slowly disappears.  “Oh,” you say.  “Then...what have you been doing this whole time?”

Cronus flips on the lamp next to your bed.  His hair is sticking up in the back.  “I was hanging out with your brother,” he says with an impish smile that looks comical with his hair in the state it’s in.  “I told him why I was waiting for you, and then we watched some of his stupid anime.  Which, I won’t lie, is beginning to grow on me.  I suppose I should get used to it if we’re going to be tumbling together into a happy, shining future.”

“Okay, sure,” you say.  You wheel into the room and gather your sleeping clothes.

“So...?” Cronus asks, watching you.  “How’d it go?”

You grimace and sigh.  “It...didn’t.”

Cronus releases an explosive groan and rolls onto his back, eyes still glued on you. “You chickened out, didn’t you?”

“Uh, well...” you say.  You don’t want to say you chickened out, but you did, didn’t you?  At least, the first time, you did.  The second time...something else happened.  You turn your chair to face Cronus and look him in the eyes. “I think that, after talking to you, and then talking with Dirk, I realized something.”

“Oh?” Cronus asks, turning back onto his stomach.

“Yeah. Um...okay, so, you know how you were saying that I should get Dirk to pity me, or else I should get Dirk to open up so I can scoop him up and comfort him in a way that would be generally considered romantic?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I almost had the chance to do that, and I realized that that wasn’t going to work for us.  For a lot of reasons. I realized that...you know, before I met you, I was generally feeling pretty bad about myself, and unconfident, and mostly like I was broken, the way you described me early today. Like I had a broken body, and a broken mind that was afraid of a lot of things, and that I was always going to be that way.  But then, you and Dirk came to talk to me about being in this band, because I had a skill that you wanted, and we became friends.  Playing the guitar with you in our band, I don’t feel broken at all...I feel useful, and skillful, and worthwhile, like I’m wanted and that there are parts of me that work really well, despite the parts of me that don’t work as well. I like being like that. I like feeling like that. And that’s the way I want Dirk to feel about me, if we were to hypothetically date each other. I don’t want him to date me because he feels sorry for me.  And I want him to want me to feel that way about him, too.  That he’s worthwhile and useful and skillful, and that he has a nice smile and a good personality.  I want him to date me because I make him feel those things, and I want to date him because that is the way I feel about him.  That’s what I realized.”

Cronus examines your face, and you get the impression that something you said is battling its way into his head.  He seems as though he wants to say something but also doesn’t want to say that thing. But you don’t know what that thing is.  He just frowns and sighs. “So, the bottom line is that you found a new reason not to confess,” he says.  Your face heats up, and you frown, too.

“No,” you say.  “The bottom line is that now I have a goal, and that goal is...it’s, um...”

“See? You don’t even know what it is!”

“No, I do, it’s just...”  Your face grows warmer for a different reason, and you look away.  “My new goal is just to make him happy, and to also be happy, in ways that inspire romantic feelings in both of us, so that we can both feel comfortable admitting our feelings for each other openly and honestly when the time is appropriate to do so.”

You risk a glance at Cronus.  He’s on his back again, and one eyebrow is arched high into his forehead. “So, let me get this straight. You’re not going to tell him you like him, but instead, you intend to court him so passionately he falls madly in love with you.”

“Uh, well, when you put it like that, it sounds...” you say, and you’re now wearing a full-fledged blush.

“You know what, champ?” he says, rolling onto his side.  “I’m not surprised.  That sounds _exactly_ the way you would do something like this.  I don’t even know how you come up with this stuff.”

“I...don’t really think it’s hard to come up with,” you say.

“Sure it’s not.  And I bet you know exactly what your ‘happy thought’ is and think about it before you go to sleep each night.”

“Uh, actually, I think you’ve referred to my ‘happy thought’ more today than I ever have,” you say.  You pause for a moment. “Actually, I don’t think I even have a particular happy thought right now.  I guess...I used to think of my dog, but he died, so he wasn’t much of a happy thought anymore.  After my accident, I sort of ran out of happy thoughts and haven’t come up with one in particular since then.”

“Are you serious?” Cronus asks, and the surprise on his face strikes you as odd. The surprise dissolves into a pout.  “No, you have to have a happy thought!  Isn’t it our band, or Dirk running shirtless down the beach in slow motion, or something equally cheesy but meaningful to you?  Come on, it has to be fairies or something.”

“I’m pretty much positive that you care more about my happy thought than I do at this point in time,” you say.  “I’m happy with a lot of things right now, so I haven’t had to use any mental reassurances to comfort me against terrible situations.  Which is a good condition to be in, because it’s horrible to not have happy thoughts when you need them.”

“Well, you should get one before our first show,” Cronus says.  “I need you in top form, and if you get cold feet, it’ll ruin us.”

“You know, of the two of us, I’m pretty sure the one who needs a happy thought, particularly to use in moments of melodrama or self-centeredness, would be you.”

“You caught me,” Cronus says with a dramatic sigh.  Your face falls.  He’s been trying this whole time to get you to ask him about his ‘happy thought.’ You usually notice when he’s fishing for questions, but he was being subtler this time, you guess. He continues, “I finally realized that your childish obsession with Peter Pan can actually be _useful_ in real life.  I now have my very own happy thought.”

He looks at you with wide eyes, and you sigh.  “Okay, so, what is it?”

“You promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t tell anyone.  Not even Rufioh.”

“And not Dirk.”

“Definitely not Dirk.”

Cronus spins on the bed and pulls his knees beneath him, and he leans towards you. “It’s magic,” he whispers. You bite your lip to keep yourself from responding in a way that’d offend him.  You should have guessed as much.  Everything about his demeanor is both exasperating and hilarious, and you’re working extremely hard to keep an acceptable expression on your face.

“That’s a really good happy thought,” you say.

“You hesitated,” Cronus says, his face falling.

“No, I’m serious!” you say.  You gather all the sincerity you can muster and say, “I’m so glad you found something to keep your spirits up.  I think this will be really good for you.  You’ll be so much happier and inspired.  Maybe you’ll, uh, become an even better musical artist, in ways that will shock and awe everyone you know, so that you can laugh at them after you rise to fame.”

That did it.  His face breaks into a grin.  “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, champ!” he says. “I am a magician. A musical magician, with secret magic thoughts in my mind.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” you say, but you smile as well.  This will be good for him, you decide.  Maybe the thick layer of cynicism will melt off his demeanor and he’ll become a better person.  There’s a happy thought if you’ve ever had one. Now, you think you’ve covered everything he wanted to talk to you about, and you’re getting pretty damn sleepy.  “But, uh, now that we go that cleared up, I’m going to go take a shower and go to bed, so...”

“Oh,” he says, breaking out of his thoughts.  “Oh, okay, champ.  Got it.”

“Alright, so...goodnight, I guess,” you say.  He knows the way out.  You wheel your way to the bathroom and prepare yourself to shower. You think about what Cronus says as you sit in the tub, working your shampoo into your hair.  A happy thought for when you’re on stage...

As you rinse the bubbles out, you think about what Dirk said when he ran his fingers through your hair.  You think about it as you work in your conditioner.  You think about him styling your hair for a show, making you look as cool as he does, so that when you’re in front of a crowd, everyone stares at you with appreciation.  Something glows in your chest.  You don’t think you’ll have to look very hard for your happy thought.

And when you get back to your bed, clean and pajama’d, Cronus is snoring into your pillow.  You sigh and push him out of the way.  His breath smells like cigarettes and onions, and you have a hell of a time going to sleep, even with your happy thoughts in mind.


	8. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! Tell me what you think, and thanks for reading!

Your first gig flies up on you much faster than you expected it would, and you’re not sure how you feel about it.  Cronus took you all shopping like Dirk said he might, and the number of clothes he buys you sends your mind reeling.  You don’t even have to pretend to be surprised and appreciative. He brushes off your attempts to find some way to repay him with a smug smirk.  “Just play well at our show next weekend,” he tells you.

The band has been practicing almost daily, and Cronus and Dirk have taught you one of the songs they wrote.  You still don’t know how you feel about it.  Cronus took your offhanded suggestion to write songs for you very seriously, and you’re honestly surprised by the outcome.  It’s not nearly as offensive as you thought it’d be, and the words stir up emotions in you that aren’t entirely pleasant.  You might even say the lyrics are good. But it feels strange, singing words that are meant to be about you written by someone else. You’ve learned the song, but you haven’t found the soul to sing it the way Cronus wants you to. Dirk offers to rap the majority of it if you don’t feel comfortable doing it at your shows.  You might let him.  You don’t know yet.

The night of the show, Jake English arrives with Jade at Cronus’s house in a gigantic van. Everyone is dressed up. You all look really cool, and you _feel_ cool, decked out in the awesome threads Cronus got for you.  True to his word, Dirk did your hair for you, and you feel fantastic. You do your best to help load everything into the back of the van, and then you slide into Cronus’s car. Dirk and Dave are driving separately.  Cronus goes on and on about how spectacular you’re all going to sound tonight.

But when you roll up to the venue you’re going to be playing in, Dirk greets you, irritation marking his expression.  He grabs your chair from the trunk before Cronus gets out of the car and opens your door for you.  “Bad news,” he says, setting the chair up and holding it still for you as you get out. “They’re not nearly as accessible as they made it sound.  As in, we got stairs ahead of us.”

“I thought you visited all these places before deciding which we’d play at,” Cronus says, circling around the car with a scowl.

“I figured that, hey, when some assholes say they’re accessible, they actually mean they’re fucking accessible,” Dirk says, coming as close as you’ve ever seen him to expressing open anger.  “Like hell I’m going to make that mistake again.  I should have finished that fucking ramp.”

“Is it, uh, just the stairs that you’re concerned about, because we can still probably do something about that,” you say, battling down a growing sense of distress. You refuse to be the knife that kills your band’s first performance.  Your clothes are the coolest you’ve ever worn, your hair looks awesome thanks to Dirk, you’ve been practicing and perfecting your songs, and you’ve been preparing yourself mentally to face the crowd every night all week. You don’t want a set of stairs to get between you and your goal.  That would be the absolute worst thing that could happen.

“Right,” Cronus says, and before you can react, he digs his arms behind your back and beneath your legs and hauls you out of your chair.  You stifle a squeak as he stumbles for a second and jostles you around to get a better grip.  “Fuck, Tav, champ, you think you could let up on my neck a bit?” he says.  You realize that you’re holding him a little too hard and try to loosen your grip.

“Okay, this is—I don’t really like this,” you say as he carries you to the back entrance, where Jake and Jade are hauling the equipment in with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Gotta get you in somehow, champ,” Cronus says with a grunt as he scales the stairs.

“Yeah, I appreciate that, and I’m glad we aren’t giving up because of this, but—“ you stop as Cronus drops you into a chair and walks away to peek around the venue.  He returns with a big grin on his face.

“It looks like you won’t have any trouble in here, champ,” he says, “and, good news, we have a big turn-out!”

You exhale through your nose.  “Cronus,” you say, waiting for him to notice that you’re being serious. You’re not very good at being assertive or forceful, but if you wait, he usually notices that you mean what you’re about to say.  His smile fades.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, know you were being helpful, and I appreciate that helpfulness, which is a good trait to have and you should keep doing it, but next time, when I can’t do something, it would make me feel better and less, uh, generally helpless if you waited for me to ask you for help first, instead of dragging me around haphazardly, okay?”

You maintain eye contact to emphasize your point, which is one of the few ways you know to how to get through to Cronus when you’re attempting to scold him for misbehavior.  He furrows his brow, opens his mouth, and closes it.  Pausing, he examines your expression, emotions flashing across his face. But he relaxes. With a sigh, he says, “Sorry.”

You’re so surprised by his apology that it takes you a moment to register it. “It’s okay,” you say, smiling. You were honestly expecting a lot of pouting and backhanded comments, but he proved you wrong.

“Happy thoughts, champ,” he says with a wink.  “I need you in top form.  Nothing will get in our way.  Just concentrate on the music and don’t let yourself get distracted by anything.”

You watch him walk away to help Jake and Jade carry stuff in, dumbfounded. That was one of the most supportive things he’d ever said that you.  You grin, feeling a swell of appreciation.  All your excitement for the night returns. A moment later, Dirk appears, carrying your chair.  He sets it down for you and holds it while you transfer into it.

“Disaster averted,” he says, shooting you a miniscule smile.  “You look ready to go.”

“Uh, yeah, I am, more so than I thought I would be,” you say, leaning forward. “Which isn’t to say that I’m not nervous, because I am, but I also feel as though this is a challenge that I can effectively tackle, well enough to do the rest of the band justice.”

“Good to hear,” Dirk says.  “Although, between your sick skills on the guitar, that heaven-rending voice of yours, and your fly as hell look, it’s probably gonna be the rest of us working to do you justice out there.”

You’re glad he can’t see you blush in the dim light, but the size of your stupid grin probably gives you away anyway.  “Uh, thanks,” you say.  And you add, “I think you look pretty fly, too.  I mean, we all do.  We look really cool.”

“We do,” he says.  “We’re going to set this place on fire.  Figuratively, of course, unless drastic measures become necessary.”

“Well, um, given that they don’t have a wheelchair accessible entrance, I sincerely hope that we don’t accidentally catch the building on fire, in any case.”

“Good point.  I’ll control my urges.”  You think he’s joking?

Cronus swoops over, breathless with excitement.  “Are we ready?”

“Is everything set up?” Dirk asks.

“Looks that way, chief.”

“Okay, let’s go meet our adoring public.”

Your heart beats almost painfully as you follow the two of them out onto the stage. Pre-recorded music blares as you go to your instruments and make whatever adjustments you need to make. Dave has set most everything up already. He comes over and helps you set up your stompbox, which Dirk had modified for you a long time ago. You try not to focus too hard on all the people standing beyond the lights illuminating the raised platform on which you’re set up to play, which isn’t too difficult since the venue is dark. You still feel a queasy sense of stage-fright rolling in your stomach.  You’re too far to give in to it now, and you fight to battle it down. Almost as though he was reading your mind, Cronus meanders over with his keytar resting against his stomach.

“Confidence, champ.  Think of happy thoughts.  It might help to do some breathing exercises before we start,” he says.

You nod and take the advice, and he turns to talk to Dirk.  Inhaling in, exhaling out, you can feel the tension in your chest and stomach loosen more.  Breathing takes the edge off your nerves.  You do a few quick exercises, warming up your vocal chords, as the pre-recorded music fades away.  The murmuring of the crowd is audible.  You swallow, trying to ignore your fluttering heart, as Cronus walks over to his mic.

“How are we doing tonight?” he asks, and he gets a number of responses, some rather enthusiastic.  You glance around, trying not to concentrate too much on the faces.  You hear Cronus says, “We’re Undefined, and we’re going to blow you away.”

He steps away from the mic, and Dirk beats out a tempo on his drumsticks. You almost don’t feel ready. A brief fear of failure flutters through you, but your fingers find the notes on your guitar at the right second, and the fear fades away.  You can do this.  You’ve been doing this for weeks.  The crowd makes noise as it recognizes the song you’re covering, and you slowly get into the music.  Jade comes over to play near you.  You feed off her energy, and as you open your mouth to sing, you have no doubt you’ll get it right.

Three songs in, you’re sweating but you’re feeling great.  Nothing has gone wrong.  Everything is perfect.  The crowd is all about you, and you feel like you’re on top of the world. Literally nothing could bring you down now. 

And just as you think it, your eyes fall onto a face in the crowd that makes your heart seize.  Vriska. She’s near the back, but you’d recognize those eyes from across the football field.  Blue eyes, despite her brown skin and dark hair. Hair that she’s dyed blonde, apparently.  You miss your cue, and Cronus rams a hip into you.  You fumble to find a place to jump in.  You barely manage to save the song, even if your voice does waver a little more than usual.

Cronus stands next to you between songs, looking down at your face and following your eyes into the crowd.  You doubt he’ll figure out what has you distracted.  But Vriska has noticed that you’ve seen her, and she’s staring you right in the eyes.  You can’t see the details of her face well, but you imagine her as cool and collected, with a slight smirk.  Your heart is hammering.  You don’t know how to identify your emotions.  The heat of the lights isn’t as inviting as it was before.  Your sweat feels cold. 

Cronus takes a step back to talk to Dirk, and when he returns, he whispers something into your ear.  “We’re gonna play that new song, champ,” he says.  It takes you a moment to register it. 

“Now?”

“Happy thoughts, Tav.  The happiest thoughts you can manage.  We got this.”

You suck in a deep breath and nod.  You’ve only been practicing this song for a week and a half, but you know it. You can sing it. But in front of Vriska? Cronus goes to the mic to announce the song, and it’s too late to reconsider.

Happy thoughts. You have those. You have more of those than you did before she pushed you off that building, way more than you did in the hospital or recovery, many times the number you had when you were adjusting to a new school, alone, a brown nerd in a wheelchair sorting his Pokémon cards during lunch.  You remember shopping with your band, going to the beach with Dirk, swimming with Cronus in his pool. The exhilaration you felt after Dirk did your hair earlier that day, when you looked at yourself in the mirror and saw a cool kid looking back at you.  Your mind is an album of happy thoughts now, an unending string of happy thoughts. 

Jade sets the beat with her bass, and Cronus joins her.  You don’t join on the guitar until later in the song. The beginning of this number is more reserved than the songs you’ve been performing, and the crowd is patient. You’re supposed to start rapping. Your cue passes, but the melody at this point in the song is redundant.  You can pick it up again.  It passes again.  You grimace.  The melody comes around once more, but you’re floundering hard.  But Dirk anticipates your hesitation and picks it up for you. You breathe a sigh of relief and gather yourself to jump in at the chorus.  Your hands shake.  Hopefully you’ll be able to play when the time comes.

“Why did you decide you wanted to destroy me

Even when you were so close to me

Even when we would disagree

I thought that we were friends

I thought that we could make amends

But damn

The damage that you did can never be repaired

I’m impaired, scarred for life and distressed

Holding grief inside my chest

Outcasted and rejected

Neglected and dejected

Subjected to ridicule and shame

My body was your game

And the world is hard on people like this

Harder than you were, and I won’t miss

Your harsh words and abuse

I’m gonna shake myself loose

I won’t let you use me anymore

Now it’s finally my time to soar.”

By the time Dirk finishes, you’re feeling cold and jittery but you’re ready to sing. You play the notes you have to play on your guitar with enough skill to get by, and you open your mouth, trying to keep some semblance of strength in your voice.

“I still got my soul, and I still got my voice

I’ve got the rest of me

You only took part of me

And now this is my choice

I won’t comply

Despite what you’ve done to me

I’m gonna fly.”

You try not to look at Vriska.  If you ever thought you would regret letting Cronus write lyrics for you, you never thought it would be for this reason.  But the music is picking up.  The sound is getting rougher and more energetic, as if to reinforce the conviction expressed in the lyrics.  And you feel it.  Since Cronus gave the lyrics to you, you’ve thought about the words late at night when you should be sleeping, churning them in your mind.  They always made you feel uncertain, strange, self-conscious, but you never knew why.  But now, your chest is burning.  The words you’re about to rap feel like fire in your chest.

You look up at Vriska.  The darkness obscures her expression, but you can imagine what it might be.  And the flame grows.  You don’t feel uncertain, strange, or self-conscious anymore. You were unsure about this song because you didn’t believe it, because you didn’t think it was you, but now you want it to be.  You want to sing the lyrics as though you wrote them, as though you were the one who thought to say them.  You want to own this song, because she’s watching, and it’s about damn time you put it all down for her.

“You had your fun at my expense,” you rap as your cue comes, and if Dirk thought he would have to jump in, you can’t tell.  You continue as though you never had a doubt.

“You were so fucking intense

Had your claws around me, your jaws opened wide

You gave me no freedom and no places to hide

Always trying to put me down, putting me below you

But here I am and I’m practically brand new

Whether I’m five stories down

Laid out on the ground

Rolling around

Cringing at the sound of your voice

You haven’t got the best of me

I still got some breath in me

Got my sanity

Got my family

Got friends who believe in me

And I’m done playing games

Done feeling this shame

Done saying your name with fear

I am here and I’m strong and my vision is clear

I’m alive, and it’s my turn to thrive.”

You transition into the chorus immediately, and Cronus and Jade sing backup vocals to you, striking a harmony that chills you.  Your voice rips from your throat, raw and passionate in a way that you hadn’t been able to achieve until now.  It feels like it’s drawing energy straight from your soul, each word forged in the fire raging in your chest.  You’re reaching a new level, and it feels better than you could have imagined.

“I still got my soul, and I still got my voice

I’m not useless or helpless

And I’m gonna show you my choice

I don’t know why you turned out this way

I’m sorry it turned out this way

But I won’t comply

Despite what you’ve done to me

I’m gonna fly.”

The music rages, reaching the climax of the song, and you shred out a solo on your guitar.  The crowd is shouting with encouragement.  The energy slows, and you sing the chorus again, slower, more meaningfully. The song ends. You look up, and Vriska is gone.

The fire in you shrinks, but it stays there.  It stays there until the rest of the performance, until you’re off the stage. Cronus rushes over and gives you a huge bearhug.

“You did it!” he shouts, squeezing the life out of you.  “You did it, champ!  _That_ was your sound! That was it!”

Jade runs over as well, hugging you and hopping up and down.  You’re so tired, but a swell a pride washes through you, revitalizing you just a little bit.  You grin.  “Thanks,” you say.

“Yeah, that was pretty fucking unbelievable.  Damn,” Dirk says, watching Cronus smother you with a genuine smile on his face.  Dave stands next to him, mirroring his expression.  You don’t have time to respond before Cronus releases you, looking down at you with the sort of stupid affection a grown man might show to his child after its first teeball game.

“I’m so proud!  You’ve grown up!” he says, beaming.

“Thanks,” you say again.  “But, uh...did you...mean to play that song just then?  I mean, did you know?”

“Know what?” Dirk asks.

“About—“

“Bad news!” Jake says, joining the group in the back.  “Vriska—“

“Is right here.”

Your heart stutters as Vriska follows him back.  You gasp.  An eye patch covers her left eye, and her left sleeve is folded halfway up her forearm, where her arm stops at a stump.  She lifts her right hand in a halfhearted wave. “How’s it going, Tavros?”

You can feel the tension in the air.  Cronus drops his hand onto your shoulder.  “What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Terezi says, strolling back.  She taps the ground with a cane, and her eyes are covered by a pair of red shades.

“Terezi?” you ask, and your stomach drops to the bottom of your torso as you eye the walking cane.  “I didn’t know you were here, too.”

“I was standing right next to Vriska!” she says.  “Was it just too dark to see the black girl?  I see how it is.”

“Uh, no, that’s not what I meant...”

“Hey, Tav, my bro!” Gamzee says, appearing behind her.  He throws an arm over her shoulder, which she shrugs off with a small grimace.

“Gamzee?”

“Those were some miraculous motherfucking jams you all produced on your musical motherfucking instruments,” he says, ambling over to you. His face paint is smeared and running with sweat.  He looks as though he’s been dancing.

“This idiot gave everything away,” Terezi says, pointing in some vague direction but not necessarily towards Gamzee.

“Wait, okay,” you say, shrugging Cronus’s hand off your shoulder and wheeling forward a few feet.  You look between Vriska’s eye, her arm, and the walking cane in Terezi’s hands.  “What...happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Vriska says.  “The short version is that Terezi detonated a pipe bomb in my hands and I threw acid into her eyes.”

“Oh my god!” Jade says with a gasp, and you can almost feel the people behind you grow tenser.  You can’t seem to close your mouth.  You gape at her, glancing between her and Terezi, at a complete lose for words.

“But why?” you finally ask.  “That’s—that’s completely insane, those things you said, that sort of thing...how could you do something like that?”

“You know the story, Tavros,” Vriska says.  “Bad stuff happened.  To all of us. We were young and idiotic, and we paid the price for it.”

“’Young and idiotic’ isn’t a good set of words for anything you just described,” Dave says from behind you.  “’Batshit insane’ might cover it a little better.”

“Yeah, okay.  Batshit insane. Whatever.”

“Why are you here?” Dirk asks.

“To see the show, of course,” Vriska says with a small shrug.  “We wanted to see how Tavros was doing.”

“Well, you saw, so you can go now,” Cronus says, stepping towards you. “Nice meeting you! Try not to kill anyone on the way out.”

Vriska sighs through her nose and glances at Terezi, who, as though sensing her train of thoughts, pats her on the back.  She turns her attention to you.  Something conflicted flashes through her one good eye. “Actually, I have something I want to say first,” she says.  She takes a step forward, but evidently the group behind you reacts negatively to the motion, because she stops.  She grimaces and rolls her eye.  “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble.  I just wanted to apologize, okay?  To you, Tavros.  I know it doesn’t mean much now, and you’ve moved on with your life.  I mean, look at you!  You’ve never looked better, which is saying a lot now that you’re stuck in a wheelchair.  I bet you were hoping you’d never have to see me again.  And I’m fine with that.  You can forget about me forever if you want.  But before you do, I want you to know that I regret everything that happened, to _all_ of us, Terezi and Aradia included.  Things got really crazy really quickly.  I could list all sorts of reasons and excuses why I acted the way I did, but none of that matters much now, does it?  So, hey, sorry.  Sorry about paralyzing you and killing your best friend.  And ruining your life.  I really mean it.”

You stare at her.  What do you say? How do you feel? You’re more shocked than anything else. You never expected her to apologize.  It all feels rather contrived, as though she’s planning to do something underhanded. As though she’s planning to elbow her way back into your life, and she just wants to build a false sense of rapport before she stabs you in the back again.  But...so what?  You’re not in the same place you were before.  You’re not with the same people, doing the same thing. What if you did see her around at shows? What if you talked to her now and then?  Would it matter?

You don’t feel like she can hurt you.  Even now, with your band behind you, you don’t feel afraid.  The realization hits you suddenly, bringing with it an unexpected feeling of calm.  You’re not afraid.  You aren’t afraid of Vriska Serket, and you don’t care about what she does or where she is anymore. And you don’t need to wrack your brain to figure out if she’s lying to you, because you don’t care.

“Okay,” you say.  “I guess, since you said all that so nicely, I might be able to forgive you for what you did to me. I can’t...about Aradia, I haven't...I don’t want to think about that. I don't know if I can forgive you for that, yet, because...I'm still working through it.”

She seems taken aback.  In fact, everyone seems to be surprised.  No one says anything for a moment.

“Really?” Cronus finally asks.  “You’re going to _forgive_ her?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“I’m just...tired of holding onto all this negative energy about something I can’t change, especially when everyone else who was involved has also suffered for it.  And I want to move on, and not dwell on it or be affected by it.  So if Vriska says she’s sorry for what she did to me, I’ll forgive her.  But, uh...I don’t want to rekindle any sort of relationship, at least for a while, since...you know, you’re kind of crazy.”

Terezi laughs and whacks Vriska in the shin with her walking cane.  “Aren’t you lucky!  You owe me fifty dollars.”

“Shut up, Pyrope,” Vriska says with grimace.

“Hey, now that you’re all up and reconciled, maybe we can be about hanging out again!” Gamzee says, dropping a hand down on your shoulder.  “This psychobitch is the only one of us three motherfuckers what can drive, so maybe you can be getting your transportation on all up at us again!”

“Gamzee, you’re a literal idiot,” Terezi says.  “He’s not interested.  Let’s go.”

“I’ll, uh, text you later, Gamzee,” you say with a small smile.

“Okay, motherfucker, if that’s what your heart is telling you is right!”

The three of them disappear into the venue.  You sigh.  You feel so tired. But you also feel good, light, in a way you didn’t know you wanted to feel.  You turn and look over your shoulder.  Cronus is surprisingly close, standing with one hand on the back of your chair.

“That was weird,” he says, frowning.  “You should have told her off, champ.”

“I’m pretty sure you wrote me a whole song so I could do that,” you say. His face falls, and something clicks.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says.

“That was really cool of you, though, Tavros,” Jade says, walking to you. “I think what you did was really brave.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile.

“Yeah, it was hells of impressive, and I might have a massive boner for you almost as big as Dirk’s.  But we should really start packing up our stuff, or they’re gonna get pissed,” Dave says, pointing at the stage over his shoulder.  You freeze.

“Right!” Jade says, turning to join him.  ‘A massive boner almost as big as...?’

“You want me to take you to the car while we put everything up?” Cronus asks, but a hand falls on his shoulder.

“I got it,” Dirk says.  Cronus looks for a moment as though he’s preparing to argue, but he closes his mouth and offers Dirk his keys before turning to help the others.  Dirk looks down at you.  “Hey, need a lift?”

The heat of the stage is nothing compared to the way your face feels right now. “Uh, sure,” you say, and you hope he can’t see your blush as he dips down to pick you up.  He doesn’t stumble the way Cronus did. You feel weightless as he carries you down the stairs and around to Cronus’s car, which he opens with a clicker on Cronus’s keychain.  He sets you in the passenger seat, and before you can say anything, he turns away and is gone in flash.  For a moment, you sit alone in confusion, but he returns quickly with your chair in tow. After sliding it in the trunk, he’s around again, standing next to the open door.

“Hey,” he says, squatting down onto his haunches.  “Are you doing okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you say, “I’m doing—actually, I’m feeling pretty good right now. I think...I think tonight was probably a good night, one that I’ll remember as being largely positive when I think back in the future.”

Dirk smiles.  “I was worried there for a bit, but you really blew us all away.  You handled that like a fucking saint, you know that? Jade’s right, forgiving someone like that is a brave thing to do.  Your confidence, man.  I can’t even handle it.”

You release a breathy laugh, pleased beyond words.  “Thanks,” you say.  “That really means a lot to me, in ways I can’t express to you.”

Dirk doesn’t respond immediately.  You get the impression that he’s examining your face, but you don’t know why. You’re covered in sweat, and you’re pretty sure your hair is nowhere near as nice as it was when he styled it for you.  Nothing about his face cues you into his emotions.  “You sounded really good out there,” he finally says.

“I felt really good.  Really, really good. Confident, like you said, in a way I’d never felt before.  It’s crazy that there are people who feel like that all the time.  I kind of want to, too,” you say.  You’re a little embarrassed to admit it, but you don’t feel weird.  You want to say it. You think Dirk will care enough to make it matter.

He pauses again.  “Hey,” he says, and then hesitates.

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Your whole body freezes.  What? _What_? ...What?  “Yeah,” you say as soon as your breath comes back, and Dirk leans forward onto his knees and pushes himself towards you, holding onto your seat for balance.  Your mind goes white as his lips brush against yours, gently at first, almost shyly. He leans into the kiss, deepening it, and you let him.  You don’t know if your body is still working.  His tongue brushes against yours, and you think you might pass out from lightheadedness.  When he pulls away, you don’t think you remember how to speak.

“In the words of Dave Strider, I have a massive boner for you,” he says as you try to put your brain back together.  You laugh.

“That’s funny, because I sort of, um...have a massive boner for you, too, I guess. And also I like you a lot.” It feels so good to say. So, so good.  You want to kiss him until dawn.

“I like you, too.  We should like each other together more often.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would like that.”

When Cronus comes back to the car, Dirk says goodnight and goes to drive his brother home.  You can hardly stop grinning. When Cronus finally gets you to tell him why, he stops and buys you ice cream.  You finally did it.  You’re happy, you’re whole, and as an added bonus, you’re dating Dirk Strider.


End file.
